He early next morn in his boat his seat took,
And straightway adjusted a bait to his hook.
And soon as he’d overboard cast the fish-line,
The float it descended deep under the brine.
Then he laughed in his beard, and with bitterness said:
“A catch of another gold fish I have made!”
The thin lengthy line he up-drew half unwilling,
And, behold! there upon the hook hung a gold shilling.
And I can forsooth and for certainty say,
That he for delight had no rest the whole day.
But as oft as the line he up-drew from the tide,
Upon the hook never a fish he descried.
For whene’er for the fish he upon the hook sought,
He found that a shilling of gold he had caught.
THE CUCKOO
Abiding an appointment made,
Upon the weed-grown steep I stayed,
One morning mild when May was new,
And fresh the down was fraught with dew.
The meads were flowering, bright the woods,
The branches yielding thousand buds.
My lips employed in song the while
On Morfydd of the merry smile.
’Twas then as round I cast my eye
With mighty wish the maid to spy;
Though, howsoe’er my sight I strained,
No glimpse of Morfydd I obtained.
I heard the cuckoo’s voice arise,
Singing the song which most I prize.
To each Bard true most sweet I trow
His music on the mountain’s brow.