. Lilt o' the birds . lp, dim with tears a stoics eye, From hardest heart a sigh would wring. Oh, couldst thou speak, what anguished tale Wouldst thou outpour in Pitys ear!Dost think of thy dear birdlings frailAs, bleeding there, thy pulses failAnd thou beholdest death so near? They call—Ah me, thou canst not go! No more the shelter of thy wingAnd downy breast thy young may know;No more may mother-love bestow On them its care, nor comfort bring. That morsel, which thou boldest still In death, tells of thy quest for food;Tells of thy homeward flight to fillThose hungry mouths, no
. Lilt o' the birds . lp, dim with tears a stoics eye, From hardest heart a sigh would wring. Oh, couldst thou speak, what anguished tale Wouldst thou outpour in Pitys ear!Dost think of thy dear birdlings frailAs, bleeding there, thy pulses failAnd thou beholdest death so near? They call—Ah me, thou canst not go! No more the shelter of thy wingAnd downy breast thy young may know;No more may mother-love bestow On them its care, nor comfort bring. That morsel, which thou boldest still In death, tells of thy quest for food;Tells of thy homeward flight to fillThose hungry mouths, nor boding ill,To nestle oer thy little brood. [14] Alas, alas! In vain they call, In vain their little mouths they black despair on thee doth fall,As death oerspreads thee with its pallAnd dims thy last fond ray of hope! No more wilt thou with gladsome song Imbibe the vernal zephyrs breath,Or wake thy young. One grievous wrongDestruction wrought. They, too, ere long,Like thee, will all be cold in death! [15]. THE BEREAVED ROBIN O PRETTY mother robin, What makes your cry so shrill? What makes you flit from bough to April morning chill? Ah, gentle mother robin. What wonder that you cry!Your young have fallen from the nest And cold in death they lie. O tender mother robin, Those young you brooded oer So lovangly in downy nestWill greet you nevermore. O stricken mother robin. The cruel, thoughtless boyWho robbed you of yoiu* tender brood Has reft your life of joy. O frantic mother robin, What words can tell the grief That rends your gentle mother heartWith wounds beyond relief? O childless mother robin, My tears for you shall flow;May God grant you forgetfulness From all your mothers woe. 0»>\VSl ,AVn^ [16]
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade, bookidliltobirds00pick, bookyear1912
