A Phenomenal Fauna

The Reg'lar Lark's a very gay old Bird; At sunrise often may his voice be heard As jauntily he wends his homeward way, And trills a fresh and merry roundelay. And some old, wise philosopher has said: Rise with a lark, and with a lark to bed.
Although a learned Entomologist May doubt if Humbugs really do exist, Yet each of us, I'm sure, can truly say We've seen a number of them in our day. But are they real?—well, a mind judicial Perhaps would call them false and artificial.
The Poppycock's a fowl of English breed, And therefore many think him fine indeed. Credulous people's ears he would regale, And so he crows aloud and spreads his tale. But he is stuffed with vain and worthless words; Fine feathers do not always make fine birds.
The Haycock cannot crow; he has no brains, No,—not enough to go in when it rains. He is not gamy,—fighting's not his forte, A Haycock fight is just no sort of sport. Down in the meadow all day long he'll bide, (That is a little hay-hen by his side.)
A Theory, by scientists defended, Declares that we from monkeys are descended. This being thus, we therefore clearly see The Powder-Monkey heads some pedigree. Ah, yes,—from him descend by evolution, The Dames and Daughters of the Revolution.
The sportive Tree Calf here we see, He builds his nest up in a tree; To this strange dwelling-place he cleaves Because he is so fond of leaves. 'Twas his ancestral cow, I trow, Jumped o'er the moon, so long ago. But he is not so great a rover, Though at the last he runs to cover.
The Military Frog, as well you know, Is the famed one who would a-wooing go. And on the soldier's manly breast displayed, He wins the heart of every blushing maid. But, as a frog, I think he's incomplete, He has no good hind legs that we may eat.
This animal of which I speak Is a most curious sort of freak. Though Serpent would its form describe, Yet it is of the feathered tribe. And 'tis the snake, I do believe, That tempted poor old Mother Eve, For never woman did exist Who could its subtle charm resist.