I can but give one little pluck:
Let’s see; and so I will.
So on he went, and lo, it stuck
Quite through his little gill.
And as he faint and fainter grew,
With hollow voice he cried,
Dear mother, if I’d minded you,
I need not now have died.
Thoughtless Julia.
Julia did in the window stand;
Mama then sitting by,
Saw her put out her little hand,
And try to catch a fly.
O do not hurt the pretty thing,
Her prudent mother said;
Crush not its leg or feeble wing,
So beautifully made.