Thou sought'st to charm thy partner's heart.
And she is gone—thy joys are dead—
Thy music with thy mate is fled!
Poor bird! upon the roost he sate,
With drooping wing, disconsolate;
And as his little mistress gazed,
Her brimming eyes with tears were glazed.
In vain she tried each wonted art
To heal the mourner's broken heart.
At last she went, with childish thought,