"'Tis full of holes, you'll break your head;
The farm pond, too, is deep and wide;"
But loud the bicyclist replied,
"Rot! Bicycle!"
"Beware the oak-tree's withered arm,
Beware the holes, they'll do you harm!"
This was the peasant's last good-night;
A voice replied, "Don't fear, all right—
Vive Bicycles!"
At break of day, as in a brook