THE YELLOWHAMMERS NEST
            John Clare
                p. 1835
==============================

Just by the wooden brig a bird flew up
Frit by the cowboy as he scrambled down
To reach the misty dewberry--let us stoop
And seek its nest--the brook we need not dread
'Tis scarcely deep enough a bee to drown,
So it sings harmless oer its pebbly bed
--Aye here it is stuck close beside the bank
Beneath the bunch of grass that spindles rank
Its husk seeds tall and high--tis rudely planned
Of bleached stubbles and the withered fare
That last years harvest left upon the land
Lined thinly with the horses sable hair
--Five eggs pen-scribbled over lilac shells
Resembling writing scrawls which fancy reads
As natures poesy and pastoral spells
They are the yellow hammer's and she dwells
A poet-like--where brooks and flowery weeds
As sweet as Castaly to fancy seems
And that old molehill like as parnass hill
On which her partner haply sits and dreams
Oer all his joy of song--so leave it still
A happy home of sunshine flowers and streams
Yet in the sweetest places cometh ill
A noisome weed that burthens every soil
For snakes are known with chill and deadly coil
To watch such nests and seize the helpless young
And like as though the plague became a guest
Leaving a houseless-home a ruined nest
And mournful hath the little warblers sung
When such like woes hath rent its little breast


========
========