It was then the damsel fair,
Within the bed herself she placed;
It was the brave Sir Henrik then
Sweet sank to sleep by her embraced.
Full sorely wept the damsel fair,
As sleep began his eyes to find;
Assuming then her bestial shape,
She went away—a hapless hind.
THE CUCKOO
From the Danish.
Yonder the cuckoo flutters,
Cuckoo, Cuckoo! he utters,
And lights the beech upon;
Many a voice is sweeter,
But do not mock the creature,
Let each enjoy his own.
He knows no notes of passion,
A new song cannot fashion;
True to the ancient rule,
What his good sires respected
By him is not neglected,—
Is he for that a fool?
O thou, my human brother,
Who scorning every other
With self-conceit dost swell,
We cannot all be gallants,
Not equal are our talents—
Thou art no nightingale!
London:
Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.
Edition limited to thirty copies.