The poetical works of James Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

She had a secret of her own,
That little girl of whom we speak,
O'er which she oft would muse alone,
Till the blush came across her cheek,
A rosy cloud that glow'd awhile,
Then melted in a sunny smile.

There was so much to charm the eye,
So much to move delightful thought,
Awake at night she loved to lie,
Darkness to her that image brought;
She murmur'd of it in her dreams,
Like the low sounds of gurgling streams.

What secret thus the soul possess'd
Of one so young and innocent?
Oh! nothing but a robin's nest,
O'er which in ecstasy she bent;
That treasure she herself had found,
With five brown eggs, upon the ground.

When first it flash'd upon her sight,
Bolt flew the dam above her head;
She stoop'd, and almost shriek'd with fright;
But spying soon that little bed
With feathers, moss, and horse-hairs twined,
Rapture and wonder fill'd her mind.

Breathless and beautiful she stood,
Her ringlets o'er her bosom fell;
With hands uplift, in attitude
As though a pulse might break the spell,
While through the shade her pale fine face
Shone like a star amidst the place.

She stood so silent, stay'd so long,
The parent-birds forgot their fear;
Cock-robin trill'd his small sweet song,
In notes like dew-drops trembling clear;
From spray to spray the shyer hen
Dropp'd softly on her nest again.

There Lucy mark'd her slender bill
On this side, and on that her tail
Peer'd o'er the edge,—while, fix'd and still,
Two bright black eyes her own assail,
Which, in eye-language, seem to say,
“Peep, pretty maiden! then, away!”

Away, away at length she crept,
So pleased, she knew not how she trode,
Yet light on tottering tiptoe stept,
As if birds' eggs strew'd all the road;
With folded arms, and lips compress'd,
To keep her joy within her breast.

Morn, noon, and eve, from day to day,
By stealth she visited that spot;
Alike her lessons and her play
Were slightly conn'd, or half forgot;
And when the callow young were hatch'd,
With infant fondness Lucy watch'd:—

Watch'd the kind parents dealing food
To clamorous suppliants all agape;
Watch'd the small, naked, unform'd brood
Improve in size, and plume, and shape,
Till feathers clad the fluttering things,
And the whole group seem'd bills and wings.

Unconsciously within her breast,
Where many a brooding fancy lay,
She plann'd to bear the tiny nest
And chirping choristers away,
In stately cage to tune their throats,
And learn untaught their mother-notes.

One morn, when fairly fledged for flight,
Blithe Lucy, on her visit, found
What seem'd a necklace, glittering bright,
Twin'd round the nest, twin'd round and round,
With emeralds, pearls, and sapphires set,
Rich as my lady's coronet.

She stretch'd her hand to seize the prize,
When up a serpent popp'd its head,
But glid like wild-fire from her eyes,
Hissing and rustling as it fled;
She utter'd one short shrilling scream,
Then stood, as startled from a dream.

Her brother Tom, who long had known
That something drew her feet that way,
Curious to catch her there alone,
Had follow'd her that fine May-day;

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—Lucy, bewilder'd by her trance,
Came to herself at his first glance.

Then in her eyes sprang welcome tears;
They fell as showers in April fall;
He kiss'd her, coax'd her, soothed her fears
Till she in frankness told him all:
—Tom was a bold adventurous boy,
And heard the dreadful tale with joy.

For he had learnt,—in some far land,—
How children catch the sleeping snake;
Eager himself to try his hand,
He cut a hazel from the brake,
And like a hero set to work,
To make a lithe long-handled fork.

Brother and sister then withdrew,
Leaving the nestlings safely there;
Between their heads the mother flew,
Prompt to resume her nursery care:
But Tom, whose breast for glory burn'd,
In less than half an hour return'd.

With him came Ned, as cool and sly
As Tom was resolute and stout;
So, fair and softly, they drew nigh,
Cowering and keeping sharp look-out,
Till they had reach'd the copse,—to see,
But not alarm, the enemy.

Guess with what transport they descried,
How, as before, the serpent lay
Coil'd round the nest, in slumbering pride;
The urchins chuckled o'er their prey,
And Tom's right hand was lifted soon,
Like Greenland whaler's with harpoon.

Across its neck the fork he brought,
And pinn'd it fast upon the ground;
The reptile woke, and quick as thought
Curl'd round the stick, curl'd round and round;
While head and tail Ned's nimble hands
Tied at each end with pack-thread bands.

Scarce was the enemy secured,
When Lucy timidly drew near,
But, by their shouting well assured,
Eyed the green captive void of fear;
The lads, stark wild with victory, flung
Their caps aloft,—they danced, they sung.

But Lucy, with an anxious look,
Turn'd to her own dear nest, when lo!
To legs and wings the young ones took,
Hopping and tumbling to and fro;
The parents chattering from above
With all the earnestness of love.

Alighting now among their train,
They peck'd them on new feats to try;
But many a lesson seem'd in vain,
Before the giddy things would fly;
Lucy both laugh'd and cried, to see
How ill they play'd at liberty.

I need not tell the snake's sad doom,
You may be sure he lived not long;
Cork'd in a bottle for a tomb,
Preserv'd in spirits and in song,—
His skin in Tom's museum shines,
You read his story in these lines.

1831.