ROBIN LORE 



A BEETON LEGEND 



"Bearing His cross, while Christ passed forth forlorn, 

 His God-like forehead by the mock crown torn, 

 A little bird took from that crown one thorn, 

 To soothe the dear Redeemer's throbbing head. 

 That bird did what she could; His blood, 'tis said, 

 Elown dropping, dyed her tender bosom red. 

 Since then no wanton boy disturbs her nest; 

 Weasel nor wildcat will her young molest; 

 All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast." 



Hoskyns-Abeahall — The Bedbreast. 



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