The Three Bears.

I’ll tell you a story, children dear, Of father and mother and baby bear; They lived on a hill, in the hollow of a tree, And were as happy as three could well be. It was autumn, in beautiful October time, When nuts and persimmons were in their prime; The leaves were falling—how well they could hear, If wicked hunters should happen near. One day the baby bear was left alone, Asleep in his bed, on leaves of brown; In his little nest, so cozy and warm, Dreaming of birds that could never harm. He woke up suddenly, and screamed aloud, A rustle in the path—what’s this noise about; In came old bruin, his eyes wet with tears, They had lived unmolested for many years. He ran for his life, he wanted to do his part, Old mother bear had been shot, straight through the heart; He had hurried away, his own life to save, The bullets flew fast—you horrible knave; And thought of his baby, alone in his bed, How could he tell him his mammy bear was dead?