THE DESERTED NEST.
Flown! Flown! my little ones? Your cunning house,
So deftly hid beneath the mantling vine,
Quite empty?
But a few short days it seems,
Since first we spied you, a, strange, breathing mass,
Unfledged and shapeless, with bright, staring eyes,
And ever-open beak. We often came
To inspect your tiny tenement, because
Your parents were our lodgers, in a nook
Of the piazza, where the vine-leaves curled,
And thatched it like a cottage. They were out
Most of their time, upon the busy wing,
Seeking your food, while you at leisure lived,
Eating and chirping, with an equal zeal
Alternately; for whatsoe'er they brought
Was eagerly received. I feared you 'd be
Such gormandizers, that you 'd never learn
Your gamut; for you certainly were blest
With a most wondrous appetite. And still,
To help the matter on, my little girl
Amused herself by dropping now and then
A small green grape into your gaping mouths,
