OH thou who dwell'st upon the bough,
Whose tree does wave its verdant brow,
And spreading shades the distant brook,
Accept these lines, dear sister rook!
And when thou'st read my mournful lay,
Extend thy wing and fly away,
Lest pinion-maim'd by fiery shot,
Thou should'st like me bewail thy lot;
Lest in thy rook'ry be renew'd
The tragic scene which here I view'd.