Close by the busy haunts of man, 

 Within the shelf ring leaves 

 Of some tall pear-tree, low down 

 Where thorny branchlets meet, 

 The King-bird builds her cosy nest; 

 Without, of sticks and grasses coarse 

 And blossomed weeds of divers kinds 

 Variously intermingled, 

 And in the neatest style arranged ; 

 Within, of feathers soft, and down, 

 The cast-off plumes of distant kin. 

 Here she rears her tender offspring . 

 And teaches them the mysteries 

 Of bi rd-1 ife. Woe to the w retch 

 In feathered dress who dares invade 

 The realm wherein she sways the rod 

 And sceptre! 



GENTRY. 



