THE COOK AND THE CRANES.

FROM THE SPANISH.

(For the Mirror.)

Don John de Ayala,—a chap

Whose worst mishap

Was to be curs'd with a purloining cook.

(A fellow, who 'twas plain

Play'd "cut and come again,"

And scarcely reck'd, if all was seen he took.)

Don John de Ayala, went forth to look

For birds, and shot a crane;

Which, forthwith giving the aforesaid knave

To cook, according to the Spanish taste;

He, to his dainty-loving sposa gave

A leg at once, well deeming, that to waste

So fair an opportunity for sin

Would be (as he should say a burning shame;)

But, when the bird, at dinner-time went in,

Cried Juan, "Where's the left leg of my game?"

"Soul of my body, sir!" roar'd cook,—no fire

In his own kitchen, showing phiz more red,

Yet whether thus, from guilt he blazed, or ire,

Or shame perdie, hath ne'er been sung or said,

"Soul of my body!—other leg?—Well done!—

No crane that e'er I saw, had more than one."

Juan, thus silenc'd, but not satisfied,

In his own mind revolv'd

The neatest way

Of telling master Brazenface, he lied;

And so resolv'd

To take him out crane-shooting the next day.

They went:—"Well, cook," quoth Ayala, "for fun

I've brought thee here,

Where quickly 'twill appear

That if cranes have not two legs,—why, they've none."

"Say you so, Senor?—look!—yon long-neck'd flock,

Each bird of it on one foot, ends the matter;

Ay—there they stand,—as firm as any rock,

I swear by ev'ry dish I ever broke, or platter."

Straight to the flock, flight, covey, (we've no name

In Albion, to designate such game.)

Rush'd Ayala, whose hearty psho! psho! psho!

Took the cranes off one leg,—discovering two,

As up they rose, on rustling, sullen wing:

"Well cook?" "Why, body of my soul, sir, there's the thing,

Had you said psho! psho! to your roasted crane,

Belike you'd seen its hidden leg again!"