A FOREST SCENE. 291 



It nears the lawn, and comes more nigh, 



And nearer seems more weak : 

 " Mah ! " " Mi ! " the little voice it says ; 

 It is a fawn, and hither strays ; 



It stands upon the green : 

 Oh, what a Avasted tiling of hair ! 

 Its slender limbs will scarcely bear 



The summer breath, I ween. 

 The fawn that look'd so sleek and kind 



Would not with mother stay. 

 But, bounding to its tiny friend, 



It sought a game at play : 

 But, at a touch, upon the grass 



The famish'd one it lies ; 

 And tears of hunger fill, alas ! 



Its full and fading eyes, — 

 The sleek fawn seeming almost sad, 



Or else of wonder full. 

 At what could make its friend so bad. 



So weak, so lone, and dull ; 

 Unheeding, though, it did not stay, 

 And, feeling nothing, frisked away. 

 The wretched starv'd one raised its neck, — 



A poor and lonely form. 

 That mother's kisses used to deck, 



Ere she had come to harm, — 

 And rising thus, it sought each doe ; 



No teeming udder meets 

 The little face so full of woe ; 



No parent-fondness greets. 

 Butted, rebuffed, in cold despair^ 

 It shivers in a corner near. 

 The felon who had caused its loss, 



In reeking beershop roars away; 

 Though retribution yet shall cross 



His path upon a future day. 



And drag him to the gaol away. 

 And now the sufferer seeks the rill, — 

 A liquid instinct moves it still, — 



It tastes, but scarcely dares to drink ; 



The cold has made the pulses shrink ; 

 It falls — it drowns — I hear its cry, 

 And will not leave it thus to die. 



Then let the fat buck bound away ! 



I save a little fawn to-day." 



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