FOUND AT LAST.
O MOTHER! here, on this old tree,
A tiny nest;
This apple-bough—O haste and see
Red-robin's breast!
A tiny nest;
This apple-bough—O haste and see
Red-robin's breast!
This nest, it is so sweetly made
Of straw, hair, lace:
The clay is just like plaster laid,
With skill and grace.
Of straw, hair, lace:
The clay is just like plaster laid,
With skill and grace.
And green leaves, like a curtain, fall
Over her head;
Resting softly, bright breast and all;
Who made her bed?
Over her head;
Resting softly, bright breast and all;
Who made her bed?
See, mother, Robin red-breast stole
That tiny sleeve
Of baby's, made of cambric fine;
Would you believe?
That tiny sleeve
Of baby's, made of cambric fine;
Would you believe?
Your basket on the window there
All open lay,
When robin in her beak did bear
The lost away.
All open lay,
When robin in her beak did bear
The lost away.
