Red Breast

I saw one hanging on a tree,     And O his face was sad to see,--                 Misery, misery me!     There were berries red upon his head,     And in his hands, and on his feet,     But when I tried to pick and eat,     They were his blood, and he was dead;--                 Misery, misery me!     It broke my heart to see him there,     So lone and sad in his despair;     The nails of woe were through his hands,     And through his feet,--ah, misery me!     With beak and claws I did my best     To loose the nails and set him free,     But they were all too strong for me;--                 Misery, misery me!     I picked and pulled, and did my best,     And his red blood stained all my breast;     I bit the nails, I pecked the thorn,     O, never saw I thorn so worn;     But yet I could not get him free;--                 Misery, misery me!     And never since have I feared man,     But ever I seek him when I can,     And let him see the wish in me     To ease him of his misery.