No beauteous flower adorns my humble head,
No spicy odors on the air I shed;
But here I'm stationed, in my sombre suit,
With only top and stem--I've scarce a root!
Untaught of my beginning or my end,
I know not whence I sprung, or where I tend:
Yet I will wait, and trust; nor dare presume
To question Justice--I, a frail Mushroom!
=The Lost Nestlings.=
"Have you seen my darling nestlings?"
A mother-robin cried,
"I cannot, cannot find them,
Though I've sought them far and wide.
"I left them well this morning,
When I went to seek their food;
But I found, upon returning,
I'd a nest without a brood.
"O have you nought to tell me,
That will ease my aching breast,
About my tender offspring
That I left within the nest?
"I have called them in the bushes,
And the rolling stream beside;
Yet they come not at my bidding;--
I'm afraid they all have died!"
"I can tell you all about them;"
Said a little wanton boy
"For 'twas I that had the pleasure
Your nestlings to destroy.
"But I didn't think their mother
Her little ones would miss;
Or ever come to hail me
With a wailing sound, like this.
"I didn't know your bosom
Was formed to suffer woe,
And to mourn your murdered children,
Or I had not grieved you so.
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