Page:Beachy Head and Other Poems.pdf/84

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Lest, not yet fully fledg'd, her race The reaper's foot might crush, or reaper's dog might trace, Or village child, too young to reap or bind, Loitering around, her hidden treasure find; The mother bird was bent To move them, e'er the sickle came more near; And therefore, when for food abroad she went, (For now her mate again was on the ramble) She bade her young report what they should hear: So the next hour they cried, "They'll all assemble, "The farmer's neighbours, with the dawn of light, "Therefore, dear mother, let us move to night." "Fear not, my loves," said she, "you need not tremble; "Trust me, if only neighbours are in question, "Eat what I bring, and spoil not your digestion "Or sleep, for this." Next day away she flew,