Poured forth his grief all day in plaintiff songs;
Telling in sadness to the ear of spring
The story of his wrongs.
But little thought he, while each nook and dell
With the wild music of his plaint was thrilling,
That scornful breast with sighs began to swell—
Half-pitying and half-willing.
Next month I walked the same sequestered way,
When close together on a twig I spied them;
And in a nest half-hid with leaves there lay