<i>To my little niece Sally Livingston, on the death of a little serenading wren she admired.</i> <br /> <br /> <br />Hasty pilgrim stop thy pace <br />Turn a moment to this place <br />Read what pity hath erected <br />To a songster she respected. <br />Little minstrel all is o'er <br />Never will thy chirpings more <br />Soothe the heavy heart of care <br />Or dispel the darkness there. <br />I have known thee e'er the sun <br />Hath on yonder mountain shone; <br />E'er the sky-lark hath ascended, <br />Or the thrush her throat distended; <br />Cheerful trill thy little ditty <br />As the singer, blithe and pretty. <br />Labour stood, half bent to hear, <br />Study lent a list'ning ear, <br />Dissipation stop'd a while, <br />Grief was even seen to smile, <br />Ambition - but the gushing tear <br />O'erwhelms the stone and stops me here.<br /><br />Henry Livingston<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-my-little-niece-sally-livingston-2/
