[Lament on a very rare bird who recently appeared in England, and was
immediately shot.]
Over the sea (ye maids) a wild swan came;
(O maidens) it was but the other day;
Men saw him as he passed with earnest aim
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.
Has it not long been known, the whole world wide,
A wild swan is a prince of faerie,
Who comes in such disguise to choose his bride
From those of humble lot and tame careers,
_Of whom I now require some punctual tears._
Wherefore, I say, let every scullion-wench
Grieve, nor the dairy-maid from sobs refrain;
The sad postmistress, too, should feel the wrench,
And the lone tweeny of her loss complain;
Let one--let all afflict the listening spheres:
_Deplore, ye maids, his fate with rueful tears._
It was for these he sought this teeming land,
High on the silvery wings of old romance;
One knows not where he had bestowed his hand,
But e'en the least had stood an equal chance
Of such fair triumph o'er her bitter peers
_And the sweet pleasure of their anguished tears._
O prince of faerie! O stately swan!
And ye, whose hopes are with the might-have-beens,
Curst be the wretch through whom those hopes have gone,
Who blew your magic swain to smithereens;
Let your full sorrows whelm his stricken ears;
_Lament, ye damsels, nor refuse your tears._
CAPT. KENDALL.
March 18, 1914.