  A bird, with plumÈd arrow shot, In dying case deplored her lot: "Alas!" she cried, "the anguish of the thought! This ruin partly by myself was brought! Hard-hearted men! from us to borrow What wings to us the fatal arrow! But mock us not, ye cruel race, For you must often take our place." The work of half the human brothers Is making arms against the others. THE BIRD WOUNDED BY AN ARROW. |
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