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That her fond care might be a while supplied,— So, because hunger will not be denied, She leaves her nest reluctant; and in haste But just allows herself to taste, A dew drop, and a few small seeds— Ah! how her fluttering bosom bleeds, When the dear cradle she had fondly rear'd All desolate appear'd! And ranging wide about the field she saw A setter huge, whose unrelenting jaw Had crush'd her half-existing young; Long o'er her ruin'd hopes the mother hung, And vainly mourn'd, Ere from the clouds her wanderer return'd:— Tears justly shed by beauty, who can stand them? He heard her plaintive tale with unfeign'd sorrow,