A crow flew down from a tall oak tree,
Just as important as he could be;
For a Congress of birds was to meet that day,
And he had determined to have his say.
He plumed his feathers and looked severe,
As the birds flew in from far and near.
A Mocking Bird sat on a limb near by,
With a desperate look in his round, dark eye;
He was the culprit—a thief he had been,
The Thrush and the Blackbird had "run him in."
He had stolen the nest of the little brown Wren
From the tangled depth of a shady glen.
The Hawk was the Judge, and sat in state,
Ready to seal the prisoner's fate.
"A thief is worse," said the Bobolink,
"Than anything else on earth, I think."
But—"Order in Court"—rang close to his ear,
Robin, the Sheriff, was standing near.
Then the Crow began in his deep sub-bass,
And his pompous manner to plead the case.
He spoke of the prisoner's youth at first,
But a murmur of scorn from the audience burst,
So he changed his tactics and said: "I hear
Of late the prisoner has acted queer.
In fact, I can make it to you quite plain
That most of his ancestors were insane.
Young as he is, and with such a taint,
'Tis folly to make against him complaint."
He talked till the Mocking Bird felt secure,
Feeling acquittal was coming sure.
Then the Owl rose up, and his blinking eyes,
Droll and uncanny, looked wondrous wise:
"Tu whit, tu whoo! You will find it vain
To plead that the prisoner's now insane;
Insane, did you say? Oh, well, perhaps—
But there is a prison for all such chaps,
The Mocking Bird's record has always been
Soiled and blotted by many a sin.
If this were the first of his insane tricks—
But the family trait to the fellow sticks.
Only last week—but you all have heard—
How he broke up the home of the Humming Bird.
Stealing and hiding the theft by a lie
Is the poorest rule for a bird to try.
We have borne with him for many a year,
But now we must act. Have I made it clear?"
And he loudly read from the law a clause,
Then flew to his perch, amid loud applause.
The charge to the jury was something fine,
Pathos and power in every line.
They were out but a moment, then entered again,
Nor had the eloquent charge been vain;
For the verdict "Guilty," rang out clear,
Filling the pris'ner with abject fear.
Then the Judge rose up, and shaking his head,
Solemnly, thus the sentence read:
"Let every bird from yon prisoner's breast,
A feather pluck for the Wren's new nest."
Scarce had they heard the words pronounced
Ere they all in a mob on the culprit pounced,
Each plucking a feather, he flew to the glen
Eager to comfort the poor little Wren.
The Mocking Bird shivered with cold and pain,
"Oh! never," he cried, "will I steal again,
And I'll try, oh! I'll try to do what is right,
Nor ever be found in such a sad plight."
The dear, gentle Dove, who had lingered behind,
Came close to the prisoner, loving and kind,
And she whispered so low, "Come home to my nest;
I'll care for you tenderly, give you my best.
I know you are sorry, I know you will try,
So come, let us home to my warm nest fly."
So nursed by the Dove, one fair summer day,
He kissed her and blessed her, and then flew away.
But whether he truly became a good bird
I'm sure I can't say, as I never have heard.
But I know on his record there'll ever remain,
Though the act be repented, its dark, ugly stain;
And he'll find o'er and o'er such tricks do not pay,
For punishment comes, and oft comes to stay.
No matter how small is the act that we do,
This thing, little children, you'll find always true:
That somehow or some way it does come about,
The wrong that we do will soon find us out,
And we're filled with such sorrow and in such a plight,
We see very clearly, "'Tis best to do right."