Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/436



plucked the berry, from the bush, the brown nut from the tree, But heart of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me; I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer, With their wild eyes, like glittering beads, to note if harm were near: I passed them by, and blessed them all; I felt that it was good To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home is in the wood.

And here, even now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing, He pecks his swelling breast and neck, and trims his little wing, He will not fly; he knows full well, while chirping on that spray, I would not harm him for a world, or interrupt his lay; Sing on, sing on, blythe bird! and fill my heart with summer gladness, It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness!