To save the dying Whippoorwill.”
* * * * *
O’er the lifeless bird then kneeling, all his grief within me feeling,
And my soul within me moving all its longing to fulfil,
On her velvet wing I laid her, in a grave my hands had made her,
Underneath the little cedar, and beside the running rill:—
Odorous leaves her shroud and pillow, and her dirge the running rill—
Buried I the Whippoorwill.
* * * * *
Evening Mirror, New York, May 30, 1845.