"Why are my sons abroad so late?"
The mother said, foreboding fate,
And oft she sighed full sore;
Just then, she heard a mournful squeak,
And soon beheld poor wounded Streak,
Come crawling through the door.
With falt'ring voice, and accents slow,
He told his little tale of woe,
And of his hurts did tell.
"Oh! had I been advised by thee,
My dearest mother, then," said he,
"I had been safe and well.
"Not many moments can I live,
My loving mother, pardon give,
And let me die in peace."
Full many a tear the mother shed
Beside poor Mousey's dying bed,
And soon his voice did cease.
"Disastrous fate!" the Mouse did say,
"To lose both sons in one sad day,
Dear objects of my love."
But, hark! a well-known step is heard,
Each bristle of the Mouse's beard,
Began with hope to move.
And soon poor Spot's long nose she saw,
And then his little pointed paw,
Come gently on the floor.
"O, mother, mother," cried the Mouse,
"With joy I see our happy house;
My peaceful home, once more."
With transport she beholds her son,
Who, on recovering breath, begun
To tell his perils past;
And how he had, with tooth and claw,
Contrived from out the trap to gnaw,
And so escaped at last.
MORAL.
If you do not attend to your parents' advice,
You may come to sad fate, like the two little mice.