moist earth broken by the coulter and turned up to the sun and winds of May. This particular piece, which follows, is entitled The Sparrow, and was occasioned by the crushing of a bird's-nest by the author while ploughing among his corn. It has something of the simple tenderness of Burns.
Poor innocent and hapless Sparrow!
Why should my mould-board gie thee sorrow!
This day thou'll chirp and mourn the morrow
Wia anxious breast;
The plough has turned the mould'ring furrow
Deep o'er thy nest!
Just ia the middle oa the hill
Thy nest was placed wia curious skill;
There I espied thy little bill
Beneath the shade.
In that sweet bower, secure frae ill,
Thine eggs were laid.
Five corns oa maize had there been drappit,
Ana through the stalks thy head was pappit,
The drawing nowt could na be stappit
I quickly founa;
Syne frae thy cozie nest thou happit,
Wild fluttering rouna.
The sklentin stane beguiled the sheer,
In vain I tried the plough to steer;
A wee bit stumpie ia the rear
Cama 'tween my legs,
Ana to the jee-side gart me veer
Ana crush thine eggs.
Alas! alas! my bonnie birdie!
Thy faithful mate flits round to guard thee.
Connubial love!—a pattern worthy
The pious priest!
What savage heart could be sae hardy
As wound thy breast?