She laughed to see it brush the dew
From bough and budding spray.
And deemed its snow-white plumage grew
More beauteous, day by day.
The rose of June was in its flush,
And 'neath the fragrant shade
Of her own fullest, fairest bush
The favorite's house was staid,
While roving, bird-like, here and there,
Amid her flow'rets dear,
She culled a nosegay, rich and rare,
A mother's heart to cheer.
A shriek! A flutter! Swift as thought
Her startled footstep flew,
But full of horror was the sight
That met her eager view—
Her treasure in a murderer's jaws!
One of that feline race
Whose wily looks and velvet paws
Conceal their purpose base.
And scarce the victim's gushing breast
Heaved with one feeble breath,
Though raised to hers, its glance exprest
Affection even in death.
Oh, stricken child! though future years
May frown with heavier shade,
When woman's lot of love and tears
Is on thy spirit laid—
Yet never can a wilder cry
Thy heart-wrung anguish prove
Than when before thy swimming eye
Expired that wounded dove.
