To some sequestered spot down Norfolk way—
A thing whose like had not been seen for years:
Lament, ye damsels, nor refuse your tears.
Serene, he winged his alabaster flight
Neath the full beams of the mistaken sun
O'er gazing crowds, till at th' unwonted sight
Some unexpected sportsman with a gun
Brought down the bird, all fluff, mid sounding cheers:
Mourn, maidens, mourn, and wipe the thoughtful tears.
Well you may weep. No common bird was he.