Is't not enough The carrion festering we snuff, And gathering down upon the breeze, Release the valley from disease; If longing for more fresh a meal, Around the tender flock we wheel, A marksman doth some bush conceal. This very morn, I heard an ewe Bleat in the thicket; there I flew, With lazy wing slow circling round, Until I spied unto the ground A lamb by tangled briars bound. The ewe, meanwhile, on hillock-side, Bleat to her young--so loudly cried, She heard it not when it replied. Ho, ho!--a feast! I 'gan to croak, Alighting straightway on an oak; Whence gloatingly I eyed aslant The little trembler lie and pant. Leapt nimbly thence upon its head; Down its white nostril bubbled red A gush of blood; ere life had fled, My beak was buried in its eyes, Turned tearfully upon the skies-- Strong grew my croak, as weak its cries. No longer couldst thou sit and hear This demon prate in upper air-- Deeds horrible to maiden ear. Begone, thou spokest. Over-head The startled fiend his pinion spread, And croaking maledictions, fled. But, hark! who at some secret door Knocks loud, and knocketh evermore? Thou seest how around the tree, With scarlet head for hammer, he Probes where the haunts of insects be. The worm in labyrinthian hole Begins his sluggard length to roll; But crafty Rufus spies the prey, And with his mallet beats away The loose bark, crumbling to decay; Then chirping loud, with wing elate, He bears the morsel to his mate. His mate, she sitteth on her nest, In sober feather plumage dressed; A matron underneath whose breast Three little tender heads appear. With bills distent from ear to ear, Each clamors for the bigger share; And whilst they clamor, climb--and, lo! Upon the margin, to and fro, Unsteady poised, one wavers slow. Stay, stay! the parents anguished shriek, Too late; for venturesome, yet weak, His frail legs falter under him; He falls--but from a lower limb A moment dangles, thence again Launched out upon the air, in vain He spread his little plumeless wing, A poor, blind, dizzy, helpless thing.