His Mother was the Brook and his sisters were the Reeds,

They, every one, applauded when he sang about his deeds.

His vest was white, his mantle brown, as clear as they could be,

And his songs were fairly bubbling o'er with melody and glee.

But an envious Neighbour splashed with mud our Brownie's coat and vest,

And then a final handful threw that stuck upon his breast.

The Brook-bird's mother did her best to wash the stains away;

But there they stuck, and, as it seems, are very like to stay.

And so he wears the splashes and the mud blotch, as you see;

But his songs are bubbling over still with melody and glee.

Brook Brownie