She drew him on the soft green grass,
And chafed his lifeless form,
Opened his glassy eyes and mouth,
And tried his limbs to warm.

But all in vain, her darling bird
Was dead, and nevermore
Would he into that mother's ear,
His pretty warblings pour.

Then in despair she buried him
Beside the chestnut tree,
And covered him with twigs and leaves,
While weeping bitterly.

And then, with torn and sorrowing heart,
She flew back to her home,
Where Twit and Chirrup trembling staid,
Disconsolate and lone.

My little birdie dears, she said,
In bitterness and pain,
Our darling Downy to his nest
Will never come again.

His wilful disobedience
To my direct commands,
Has brought its own dire punishment,
Such as all sin demands.