“The lapwing, my love, is a sweet little bird,
Well known for the care that it takes of its young;
And if where the voice of this lapwing is heard
You seek for its nest, you are sure to be wrong.
“For by twitt’ring and screaming it seeks to beguile
The pursuer from where its heart’s treasure is laid;
And, were you a sage, you would see with a smile
How the smallest of creatures call guile to their aid!
“So I, full courageously, pour forth the praises
Of Laura or Fanny, those moths of an hour,