The Redbreast warbles still, but is content
With slender notes and more than half suppressed;
Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light
From spray to spray where’er he rests, he shakes
From many a twig the pendent drops of ice,
That tinkle in the wither’d leaves below.
Stillness accompanied with sounds so soft
Charms more than silence.”
Numbers of beautiful legends have been woven round the bird. For instance, its ruddy breast is supposed to be worn in memory of the day when Jesus was led forth from Jerusalem to be crucified, and the wee bird perched upon the Cross and “tried with all its little might to diminish the anguish of the crown of thorns.”