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AN OLD CROW’S EYE DOTH MISCHIEF SPY.
The next day, as the picture shows,
The farmers met to shoot the Crows—
Their rustling underneath the trees
The young ones thought was but the breeze;
But an old Crow’s experienced eye
Discovered soon their enemy;
Whose purpose was not left in doubt,
For, uttering a murderous shout,
The shooters levelled each his gun—
Bang! Bang! the slaughter is begun.
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THE FARMER’S GUN THE WORK HATH DONE.
Bang! Bang! again for every ball
Wounded or dead the young Crows fall;
The old Crows wheeling in the skies
Helpless behold their agonies,
And, piteous cawing up on high,
Answer their young ones dying cry—
Who fall, poor little suffering things,
With broken legs and wounded wings.