Classic Poem

T HE Cuckoo is a bird well known,
And for a sign of Spring is shown:
The Swallow brings in summer days,
And over woods and waters plays.
The first, a busy bird of old,
Of shallow brain, in boasting bold,
The Swallow's friendship much desir'd,
With her in winter-time retir'd;
And both seem'd friendly still to men,
When spring and summer came again.
The Cuckoo, who repeats her name,
As if the surest way to fame,
Continual babbler, idle guest,
It seems, could never build a nest:
She therefore to her friend apply'd,
Who ne'er her friendly aid deny'd:
Her wants she told; it was agreed
The Swallow should supply her need.
Well pleas'd they met; — with friendly care
The Swallow all things would prepare;
The Cuckoo, tho' instructed, try'd
Her native ignorance to hide —
" All this I knew, " she pertly cries;
" Then why d'ye ask? " her friend replies.
Still they proceed, and still by rote
The Cuckoo chaunts the self-same note:
" This presently, " says she, " will do,
" As I know well — Cuckoo! Cuckoo! "
The Swallow, out of patience quite,
Resolves to quit the work outright:
" Since you, " she angry cries, " proclaim
" Your knowledge thus, and empty name;
" If you yourself could build before,
" Do it; and trouble me no more. "
Th' offended Swallow slew away,
And thus the work unfinish d lay.
The Cuckoo now (a bird unblest)
Her eggs lays in another's nest.