- As I wandered one morn through yon wood-covered valley,
- To pluck the wild thyme and the blossoms of May;
- I look'd round in vain for my sweet little Sally,
- Whose innocent prattle enlivens the way.
- At length on a stile, by a walnut-tree shaded,
- I found her in tears a dead bird in her lap
- The joy of her once smiling face was now faded,
- While she throbbing related her cruel mishap.
- "Alas!" she exclaimed, "see my little tame robin;
- The naughty cat kill'd it!" and then she caress'd
- And kiss'd the poor victim, and, tenderly sobbing,
- Let fall a few tears on its blood-sprinkled breast.
- I sigh'd, as I said to myself, 'tis with reason
- That sages declare all is sorrow below;
- For even in childhood, delighfulest season,
- How quickly is pleasure succeeded by woe!
History and Legacy of Wild Birds Including Historic Ornithology and Other Topics of Interest
06 November 2013
Juvenile Sorrow - An 1803 Poem
Labels:
cat predation,
poetry