E. H. D.
THE LAPWING.
“Far from her nest the lapwing cries away.”—Shakespeare.
“Come, write me some lines,” said my own darling Annie,
“You say that you love me, my beauty you praise;
And you make them by dozens for Laura or Fanny,
While I’m deemed unworthy to shine in your lays.
“From the land of the grape, to the hill of the heather,
Each troubadour poured forth his verses of yore,