.Nw.OTQ5

An address to a Robin during the Hard frost.

Poor little wretch! I understand Too well that Pity, asking eye - Which views askaunt my empty hand And seems, though silent, to demand A trifling crum, the boon of misery. And now thou hoppst. around my feet. with many a short imploring note - I know thou tellst me thou would eat, But not a morsel on the snow canst meet! Come to my hearth, my little Friend, There eat - and there thy legs so slender warm; Thy muffl'd plumes though set on end And scarce sufficient to defend Thy tiny body from the frost and storm. But Robin, know! not thou alone In this stern season are distress'd, For many a wretch unheard, unknown - Of human kind is doom'd to groan Like thee, by cold and piercing want oppress'd. Thou, happy bird! by nature taught Hast now no instant family to rear; To view like man, with sickning thought His shivring babes, their bread unbought Drop on his knees the unavailing tear.