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It lives in the mountains where moss and the sedges,

Touch with their beauty, the banks and the ledges.

D.F. Thomson




Australia’s  Eastern Yellow Robins are as trusting as  the  English redbreasts, although they are not related.  They  will hop about your feet if you are digging and perch on your spade (or wood splitter)   as soon as you  lay it down.

A great look-out spot for bugs.

A great look-out spot for bugs.

They have the endearing habit of perching sideways on the trunks of trees.

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The name of the genus is Eopsaltria, which means ‘dawn harpist’ and reflects the fact that they are the first to begin singing each morning.  They’re also known affectionately (and appropriately) as ‘yellow bobs’.

Dawn harpist.

Dawn harpist.


Last year a pair arrived here  at The Gums in the first week of June. To encourage them to stay I fed them worms from the compost heap and put some twine into the wood stack as nest lining material.  Fortunately we have lots of moss and lichen for them to use.  They always have fresh water to splash about in.




Eastern Yellow Robin

In the ‘fuchsia’ birdbath

This fellow is fresh from a good soak and in need of some grooming:

Yellow Robin

Comb please!


The birds build a cup shaped nest from grasses and bark, bound together with spiders’ webs.  Always plenty of webs available for them on my windows!

What a weaver! (Photo credit; Bill La Frogemouth)

What a weaver! (Photo credit; Bill La Frogemouth)


On the nest.

On the nest. (Photo credit; Jenny Penny)

Fond Parents

Fond Parents (Photo credit; Jenny Penny)








Of course, Mother Nature can play some cruel tricks, and the breeding process does not always go to plan. Here is an interesting piece on the robins published in The Sydney Mail, in 1913.

Early in August last, a pair of yellow robins – a bird the size of a sparrow, and half as big as the American robin – built one of their pretty, cup shaped bark nests in a thin sapling. The two handsome eggs – green and brown spotted – had just been laid, when the high winds blew the nest side-long. I tied the frail structure up with a pliable piece of sapling, and the little mother at once came back, and sat serenely till the next breeze, which blew the home to pieces. Undaunted, the robins gathered up their material, and built more wisely in the fork of a sturdy sapling 20 yards away. Here they were fairly safe from the elements, but not from other dangers. Presently there were two pretty pink eggs of the bronze cuckoo to keep the green ones company – two cuckoo’s eggs in the one nest being, by the way, a rarity.

Oh dear, imagine the robins trying to feed those giant twins. The sneaky cuckoo’s eggs  have evolved to become almost the same size as  those  of a robin or a wren.   Worse still, it can lay one in about six seconds and then vamoose!

How lucky I feel to have  sweet yellow robins  in my garden at Blackheath, in the Blue Mountains.  They are so bright eyed,  round and plump.


So sweet!

So sweet!


Isabel’s poem appeared in The Sydney Morning Herald in 1936.  I hope the yellow robin stays with me too.

My thanks to the National Library’s  wonderful site TROVE and its digitised newspapers for access to the  poem and the 1913 article.

Before I go, here is another article about  some of Australia’s   more urban  birds, not all native….. and some considered  out and out vandals!  Birds of the city.


  1. Lovely photos. I agree that the nest is a perfect work of weaving.

    • Pauline

      Apologies Heather, I inadvertently published this before it was complete. The full piece is up now.

  2. Lovely! I really enjoyed reading that, and looking at the beautiful photos, too!

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