And partridge coveys, with their freckled breasts.
Oh, lives like sunny hours! Oh, peaceful glade,
Where glow the early flowers! What hunters steal
Along the stream, with rifles softly laid
At hand, while slips the skiff on noiseless keel?
The shots half-blind the air with curling haze,
And from his lookout perch the watcher falls;
The nested mother lifts her head to gaze,
And wounded, flutters down with hollow calls.
And, bleeding prone, perchance she mourns her young,