Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/313

Rh Feeling so very sure 't would do you good. But as for me, I had a thousand fears Of cholera, and. all the latent ills That birds are heir to, and with fainter step Stole every morning to your curtained couch, Filled with sad visions of your early death. But lo! you grew like mushrooms, and your sires, Who screamed at first with terror, when we drew So near their hopeful race, at length became Quite passive to our visits, and partook Our scattered crumbs complacently. Yet now, You 're gone, my birds, and I shall miss you much, Both morn and eve. Methinks you were too young To try your fortune in this world of snares, And much I fear that some marauding cat, With her keen feline tastes in exercise, May seize and bear you, with your tender wings All helpless, hanging from her whisker'd mouth, A gift to her voracious little ones. Yet hence with such forebodings,—and I 'll think When from yon shrubbery I hear a song, Trembling with sweet, unpractised melody, It is your descant. How will ye obtain Your sustenance, thus sent as wanderers forth, Mid all the ignorance of infancy To cater for yourselves? Yet this wide earth