Poems
The Lover And Birds
Within a budding grove,
In April’s ear sang every bird his best,
But not a song to pleasure my unrest,
Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love;
Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest.
To every word
Of every bird
I listen’d, and replied as it behove.
Scream’d Chaffinch, ‘Sweet, sweet, sweet!
Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!’
‘Chaffinch,’ quoth I, ‘be dumb awhile, in fear
Thy darling prove no better than a cheat,
And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.’
Yet from a twig,
With voice so big,
The little fowl his utterance did repeat.
Then I, ‘The man forlorn
Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.’
‘And what’ll he do? What’ll he do?’ scoff’d
The Blackbird, standing, in an ancient thorn,
Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft
With cackling laugh;
Whom I, being half
Enraged, called after, giving back his scorn.
Worse mock’d the Thrush, ‘Die! die!
Oh, could he do it? could he do it? Nay!
Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!’ (went his lay.)
‘Take heed! take heed!’ then ‘Why? why? why? why? why?
See-ee now! see-ee now!’ (he drawl’d) ‘Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!’
O Thrush, be still!
Or at thy will,
Seek some less sad interpreter than I.
‘Air, air! blue air and white!
Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!’
(Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea)
‘Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright,
Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see,
see!’
‘Gay Lark,’ I said,
‘The song that’s bred
In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.’
‘There’s something, something sad,
I half remember’—piped a broken strain.
Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again.
‘Spring’s opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!’
Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad,
Till now, grown meek,
With wetted cheek,
Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had.
In April’s ear sang every bird his best,
But not a song to pleasure my unrest,
Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love;
Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest.
To every word
Of every bird
I listen’d, and replied as it behove.
Scream’d Chaffinch, ‘Sweet, sweet, sweet!
Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!’
‘Chaffinch,’ quoth I, ‘be dumb awhile, in fear
Thy darling prove no better than a cheat,
And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.’
Yet from a twig,
With voice so big,
The little fowl his utterance did repeat.
Then I, ‘The man forlorn
Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.’
‘And what’ll he do? What’ll he do?’ scoff’d
The Blackbird, standing, in an ancient thorn,
Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft
With cackling laugh;
Whom I, being half
Enraged, called after, giving back his scorn.
Worse mock’d the Thrush, ‘Die! die!
Oh, could he do it? could he do it? Nay!
Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!’ (went his lay.)
‘Take heed! take heed!’ then ‘Why? why? why? why? why?
See-ee now! see-ee now!’ (he drawl’d) ‘Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!’
O Thrush, be still!
Or at thy will,
Seek some less sad interpreter than I.
‘Air, air! blue air and white!
Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!’
(Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea)
‘Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright,
Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see,
see!’
‘Gay Lark,’ I said,
‘The song that’s bred
In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.’
‘There’s something, something sad,
I half remember’—piped a broken strain.
Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again.
‘Spring’s opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!’
Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad,
Till now, grown meek,
With wetted cheek,
Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had.
Analysis (ai): The speaker projects emotional turmoil onto birdsong, framing each bird’s call as commentary on failed love; the external world mirrors inner desolation rather than offering solace. Unlike Allingham’s lighter lyrical pieces, this poem emphasizes psychological introspection, closer in mood to his later, more introspective works.
- Voice and Interaction: Dialogue with birds structures the poem, but their voices are interpreted through the speaker’s despair; chaffinch’s romantic overture, blackbird’s mockery, and thrush’s taunting refrains amplify isolation. This anthropomorphism diverges from Victorian norms, where nature often symbolized divine order or moral clarity.
- Form and Rhythm: Stanzas vary slightly in length and meter, suggesting instability; the irregular rhyme scheme complements the speaker’s fragmented emotional state. Less formally rigid than contemporaneous works by Tennyson or Browning, it leans toward dramatic monologue without strict adherence.
- Linguistic Texture: Archaic diction (“quoth I,” “methought,” “wist not”) lends a timeless, folk-like quality, distancing the speaker from immediate realism and situating the poem in a pastoral tradition inflected with personal grief. These choices echo ballad forms but subvert their typical narratives of resolution.
- Less-Discussed Angle: Rather than reading the robin’s song as redemptive, it may mark emotional collapse disguised as comfort; the shift from rage to “gentle thoughts” suggests numbness, not healing—contrasting typical Victorian arcs of moral recovery. This ambiguity sets it apart from Allingham’s more harmonious nature lyrics.
- Place in Author’s Oeuvre: Among Allingham’s lesser-known works, this poem stands out for its sustained psychological focus and lack of Irish regional markers common in his poetry. It resists nostalgia, instead engaging with alienation in a natural setting usually associated with renewal.
- Relation to Era: While mid-Victorian poetry often sought reconciliation between faith and nature, this poem offers no transcendence; nature is indifferent or mocking. The absence of spiritual resolution aligns it more with emerging late-century skepticism than with the moral assurances typical of the period’s nature verse.
William Allingham (19 March 1824 – 18 November 1889) was an Irish poet, diarist and editor. He wrote several volumes of lyric verse, and his poem “The Faeries” was much anthologised. But he is better known for his posthumously published Diary, in which he records his lively encounters with Tennyson, Carlyle and other writers and artists. His wife, Helen Allingham, was a well-known artist, watercolourist and illustrator.
