A flock of fieldfares from the leafless trees
Flew chattering mournfully, while here and there
A single redwing flung upon the breeze
A sigh that seem’d the utterance of despair.
But on the burn, scarce half a mile below,
The bluff white-breasted ouzel from a rock
Pour’d his bold song—a huddling overflow
Of mirth, those faint-heart winter-fowl to mock.
—Henry Johnstone.