Note 89 — Chapter VII · THE BIRDS OF VIRGIL.
Reading edition
As in the poplar-shade a nightingale
Mourns her lost young, which some relentless swain,
Spying, from the nest has torn unfledged, but she
Wails the long night, and perched upon a spray
With sad insistence pipes her dolorous strain,
Till all the region with her wrongs o’erflows.
—Georg. iv. 511.