Poems (Rice)/Found at Last
FOUND AT LAST.
O MOTHER! here, on this old tree, 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.
And green leaves, like a curtain, fall 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?
Your basket on the window there All open lay, When robin in her beak did bear The lost away.
We searched the house in every place, Grace, Bell, and I, To find the pretty sleeve of lace Robin placed high.
It formed a portion of her nest Swung from the bough; Sweet bird, with little scarlet breast, We've caught you now!