The Sparrow 
Ever saucy, thievish, cunning— 
Such thy character, poor bird, 
Yet man’s constant friend, o’errunnin: 
Lands where’er his voice is heard ; 
Aye familiar, houses haunting, 
Fruit-trees searching for their foes- 
Oft, methinks, I hear thee vaunting— 
“ He protects who best me knows !” 
In the city, dingy, sullied 
By the smoke of myriad fires, 
And by all street Bedouins bullied, 
Ne’er of ill thy mischief tires ; 
Soon when harvest breadths are waving, 
Black the damsons, ripe the pear, 
Countrywards thou farest, craving 
In these dainties some small share. 
Hard the heart which, these denying, 
Nets you on the ivied wall, 
Shoots the chattering phalanx flying 
Eager to your leader’s call; 
Of our kindliness a pittance 
Leave we for each garden-friend ! 
We thus gain of insects quittance, 
They to home their solace lend. 
