And turned toward his home with a wearisome pace.
But ere long, on the road, an old farmer he met,
Who had taught him his snares for the songsters to set.
And he told how the bird all his skill had evaded,
And to go see this wonder the farmer persuaded.
At length they drew near; in a thicket of trees,
Whose tops gently waved in the murmuring breeze,
On a dwarf laurel-bush, on the verge of the grove,
In beauty bewitching, there sat errant Love!
His pinions hung prettily down by his side,