Who’d been upon a winter’s cruise,
Return’d with the returning spring—
Some hundred brothers of the wing,
Curious to hear from foreign realms,
Got round him in a tuft of elms.
He shook his pinions, struck his beak,
Attempted twice or thrice to speak;
At length, up-rising on his stand,
“Old England! Well, the land’s a land!
But rat me, gentlemen,” says he,