At dawn of day I labour will,
The nest shall be thy keeping;
Each night, when sunset seeks the hill,
I’ll serenade thee sleeping.
When he had sung his ditty to the end, he looked hard at her and, as she did not answer him at once, he gave her a sound peck with his beak.
“Don’t do that!” she said.
But, when he ceased pecking at her and raised his wings, as though he meant to fly away, she hastened to sing:
Yes, I will be thy own dear love,
Of bairns we’ll prate together;