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33-—THE CUCKOO.
1 The cuckoo is a pretty bird,
She singeth as she flies; vShe bringeth us good tidings,
She telleth us no lies; She sucketh all sweet flowers
To keep her throttle clear, And every time she singeth Cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo!
The summer draweth near.
2   The cuckoo is a giddy bird,
No other is as she, That flits across the meadow,
That sings in every tree. A nest she never buildeth,
A vagrant she doth roam; Her music is but tearful— Cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo!
" I nowhere have a home."
3   The cuckoo is a witty bird,
Arriving with the spring. When summer suns are waning
She spreadeth wide her wing. She flies th'approaching winter,
She hates the rain and snow; Like her, I would be singing, Cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo !
And off with her I'd go!
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