“What’s your name? Oh, stop, and straight unfold,
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold!”
“Little Bell,” said she.
Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks,
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks.
“Bonny bird,” quoth she,
“Sing me your best song, before I go.”
“Here’s the very finest song I know,
Little Bell,” said he.
And the blackbird piped; you never heard