CLXXVIII.
[Song of a little boy while passing his hour of solitude in a corn-field.]
Awa' birds, away!
Take a little, and leave a little,
And do not come again;
For if you do,
I will shoot you through,
And there is an end of you.
[Song of a little boy while passing his hour of solitude in a corn-field.]
Awa' birds, away!
Take a little, and leave a little,
And do not come again;
For if you do,
I will shoot you through,
And there is an end of you.