Her curious house is hidden. Part aside
Those hazel branches in a gentle way,
And stoop right cautious 'neath the rustling boughs,
For we will have another search to-day,
And hunt this fern-strewn thorn-clump round and round;
And where this reeded wood-grass idly bows,
We’ll wade right through; it is a likely nook.
In such like spots, and often on the ground
They’ll build, where rude boys never think to look.
Ay! as I live! her secret nest is here,