The meek enchanter piping forth so clear
Its rare alternate notes, that she could not
Refrain rememb’ring Westonbury cot:
But when the cuckoo left its perch and fled
Across the vale, Jane lifted up her head,
Exclaiming—“Oh, thou trumpeter of May!
I’ve sat in pain, almost, that thou should’st stay,
Yet thou hast flown; fie on thee, timid bird:”
But ere she’d time to speak another word
She, hearing footsteps as of something near,