iTo 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.