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Charlotte Smith - The Lark’s Nest
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"TRUST only to thyself;" the maxim`s sound; 
For, tho` life`s choicest blessing be a friend, 
Friends do not very much abound; 
Or, where they happen to be found, 
And greatly thou on friendship shouldst depend, 
Thou`lt find it will not bear 
Much wear and tear; 
Nay ! that even kindred, cousin, uncle, brother, 
Has each perhaps to mind his own affair; 
Attend to thine then; lean not on another. 
  
Esop assures us that the maxim`s wise; 
And by a tale illustrates his advice: 
When April`s bright and fickle beams 
Saw every feather`d pair 
In the green woodlands, or by willowy streams, 
Busied in matrimonial schemes; 
A Lark, amid the dewy air, 
Woo`d, and soon won a favourite fair; 
And, in a spot by springing rye protected, 
Her labour sometimes shared; 
While she, with bents, and wither`d grass collected, 
Their humble domicile prepared; 
Then, by her duty fix`d, the tender mate 
Unwearied prest 
  
Their future progeny beneath her breast; 
And little slept, and little ate, 
While her gay lover, with a careless heart, 
As is the custom of his sex, 
Full little recks 
The coming family; but like a dart, 
From his low homested, with the morning springs; 
And far above the floating vapour, sings 
At such an height, 
That even the shepherd-lad upon the hill, 
Hearing his matin note so shrill, 
With shaded eyes against the lustre bright, 
Scarce sees him twinkling in a flood of light. 
But hunger, spite of all her perseverance, 
Was one day urgent on his patient bride; 
The truant made not his appearance, 
  
That her fond care might be a while supplied,­ 
So, because hunger will not be denied, 
She leaves her nest reluctant; and in haste 
But just allows herself to taste, 
A dew drop, and a few small seeds­ 
Ah ! how her fluttering bosom bleeds, 
When the dear cradle she had fondly rear`d 
All desolate appear`d ! 
And ranging wide about the field she saw 
A setter huge, whose unrelenting jaw 
Had crush`d her half-existing young; 
Long o`er her ruin`d hopes the mother hung, 
And vainly mourn`d, 
Ere from the clouds her wanderer return`d:­ 
Tears justly shed by beauty, who can stand them ? 
He heard her plaintive tale with unfeign`d sorrow, 
  
But, as his motto was, "Nil desperandum," 
Bade her hope better fortune for to-morrow; 
Then from the fatal spot afar, they sought 
A safer shelter, having bought 
Experience, which is always rather dear; 
And very near 
A grassy headland, in a field of wheat, 
They fix`d, with cautious care, their second seat­ 
But this took time; May was already past, 
The white thorn had her silver blossoms cast, 
And there the Nightingale, to lovely June, 
Her last farewell had sung; 
No longer reign`d July`s intemperate noon, 
And high in heaven the reaper`s moon, 
A little crescent hung, 
Ere from their shells appear`d the plumeless young. 
  
Oh ! then with how much tender care, 
The busy pair, 
Watch`d and provided for the panting brood ! 
For then, the vagrant of the air, 
Soar`d not to meet the morning star, 
But, never from the nestlings far, 
Explor`d each furrow, every sod for food; 
While his more anxious partner tried 
From hostile eyes, the helpless group to hide; 
Attempting now, with labouring bill, to guide 
The enwreathing bindweed round the nest; 
Now joy`d to see the cornflower`s azure crest 
Above it waving, and the cockle grow, 
Or poppies throw 
Their scarlet curtains round; 
While the more humble children of the ground, 
  
Freak`d pansies, fumitory, pimpernel, 
Circled with arras light, the secret cell:­ 
But who against all evils can provide ? 
Hid, and overshadow`d thus, and fortified, 
By teasel, and the scabious` thready disk, 
Corn-marygold, and thistles; too much risk 
The little household still were doom`d to run, 
For the same ardent sun, 
Whose beams had drawn up many an idle flower, 
To fence the lonely bower, 
Had by his powerful heat, 
Matured the wheat; 
And chang`d of hue, it hung its heavy head, 
While every rustling gale that blew along 
From neighbouring uplands, brought the rustic song 
Of harvest merriment: then full of dread, 
  
Lest, not yet fully fledg`d, her race 
The reaper`s foot might crush, or reaper`s dog might trace, 
Or village child, too young to reap or bind, 
Loitering around, her hidden treasure find; 
The mother bird was bent 
To move them, e`er the sickle came more near; 
And therefore, when for food abroad she went, 
(For now her mate again was on the ramble) 
She bade her young report what they should hear: 
So the next hour they cried, "They`ll all assemble, 
"The farmer`s neighbours, with the dawn of light, 
"Therefore, dear mother, let us move to night." 
"Fear not, my loves," said she, "you need not tremble; 
"Trust me, if only neighbours are in question, 
"Eat what I bring, and spoil not your digestion 
"Or sleep, for this." Next day away she flew, 
  
And that no neighbour came was very true; 
But her returning wings the Larklings knew, 
And quivering round her, told, their landlord said, 
"Why, John ! the reaping must not be delay`d, 
"By peep of day to-morrow we`ll begin, 
"Since now so many of our kin 
"Have promis`d us their help to set about it." 
"Still," quoth the bird, "I doubt it; 
"The corn will stand to-morrow." So it prov`d; 
The morning`s dawn arriv`d­but never saw 
Or uncle, cousin, brother, or brother-in-law; 
And not a reap-hook mov`d ! 
Then to his son the angry farmer cried, 
"Some folks are little known `till they are tried; 
"Who would have thought we had so few well-wishers ! 
"What ! neither neighbour Dawes, nor cousin Fishers, 
  
"Nor uncle Betts, nor even my brother Delves, 
"Will lend an hand, to help us get the corn in ? 
"Well then, let you and me, to-morrow morning, 
"E`en try what we can do with it ourselves." 
"Nay," quoth the Lark, "`tis time then to be gone: 
"What a man undertakes himself is done." 
Certes, she was a bird of observation; 
For very true it is, that none, 
Whatever be his station, 
Lord of a province, tenant of a mead, 
Whether he fill a cottage, or a throne, 
Or guard a flock, or guide a nation, 
Is very likely to succeed, 
Who manages affairs by deputation.
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