The Wren

Why is the cuckoo's melody preferred,
And nightingale's rich songs so madly praised
In poets' rhymes! Is there no other bird
Of Nature's minstrelsy, that oft hath raised
One's heart to extacy and mirth as well?
I judge not how another's taste is caught,
With mine are other birds that bear the bell,
Whose song hath crowds of happy memories brought: —
Such the wood robin, singing in the dell;
And little wren, that many a time hath sought
Shelter from showers, in huts, where I did dwell
In early spring, the tenant of the plain,
Tending my sheep; and still they come to tell
The happy stories of the past again.