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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 6. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Old portraits and modern Sketches (search)
r they somehow remind us of the scent of haymows, the breath of cattle, the fresh greenery by the brookside, the 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'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.