The Kite and the Nightingale

								
A Daring thief, a Kite by name,
    Spread dire alarm o'er hill and dale.
E'en little children cried, "For shame!"
    When he pounced on a Nightingale.

The bird of Spring for life prayed well--
    "I'm fit for songs, and not for eating;
Oh, hear my notes, and I will tell
    My tale of Tyreus, still repeating."

"Tyreus! is that good food?" then said
    The Kite. "No, no;" was the reply;
"He was a mighty king, who made
    His love to me, with vow and sigh.

"His cruel love was strong: too strong!
    'Twas mad--'twas criminal: now, sire,
Let me transport you with my song;
    A song so sweet you must admire."

Not having eaten all the day,
    The Kite had other views of things.
Thus--"What's the use of music, pray?
    I, too, can talk of mighty kings.

"When you take kings--or kings take you--
    Sing to them and their pretty dears;
I'm hungry, and know what to do--
    An empty stomach has no ears."


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