XV.
Ne’er hatchet touched the overhanging bough,
Whereon the robin built her wonted nest;
About the borders did the wild rose grow,
For there the thrush might soothe her brood to rest;
Nor would he banish from her dwelling low
The long-eared rabbit, but her young caressed;
Fed from his hand they gambolled in the grove,
Caressed our Sire in turn, and mimicked human love.
XVI.