I hear the read breasts faint & feeble note
As on the thorn he prunes his drooping wing
His song scarce warbles from his wispering throat
He sings like one thats little cheerd to sing
Ah little bird thy song is like my sigh
It warbles not on hapiness to come
Its no prophetic news of summer nigh
Its not excited by the daisys bloom
The Sad reverse thy songs & solem dirge
That rings the dying year its passing bell
As friendship bends oer death[s] departing virge
& weeping takes his leave farwell farwell
Still read breast dear to me thy mournful lay
That mourns the memory of past pleasures day
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