The hunter bent down; and his heart with wonder was stirred,
When he saw, between the wide horns, the nest of a bird,
Like a crown which the prairie’s monarch might choose to wear
On his shaggy forelock, and lined with the friendly hair!
The hunter stood still, abashed in the midst of the plain,
To hear the little gray mother’s cry of pain,
And the faint fine voices of nestlings answer the cry;
While their fearless friend lay dead between earth and sky!