And the boy, with a loud and boisterous laugh,
Proud of his prowess and brutal skill,
Throws it aside with a careless toss—
“Only a bird! it was made to kill.”
Only a bird! yet far away
Little ones clamor and cry for food—
Clamor and cry, and the chill of night
Settles over the orphan brood.
Weaker and fainter the moaning call
For a brooding breast that shall never come.