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And e'en the merry mavis Will rank as rara avis— The sparrow, sole of all that sailed with Noah, Will learn the casual pot-shot to withstand!

Merry it is in good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing; But merrier were they in Dumfermline gray When all the bells were ringing.

From this point the eye glances up through the wooded glen, echoing with the songs of the mavis and the linnet, and over to a mineral well, sheltered by copsewood and pines.

He entertained no gout, no ache he felt, The air was good and temperate, where he dwelt; While mavises and sweet-tongued nightingales Did sing him roundelays and madrigals.

The mavises sang to them nearly all the year through, sometimes even in snow time.