Unerring Nature wills that every kind,
Alike in feeling, character, and mind,
Consort together, and neglecting this,
Small, small indeed, the chance of wedded bliss.
The lovely Philomel, with instinct rife,
Takes none save Nightingale to be his wife:
Thrush will to Thrush, as Lark to Lark repairs,
From fellow feeling known each other's cares;
Each joy divided, and each sorrow known,
And met with kindred feeling all its own.
Thus time wore on, as yet no bird had come
Congenial partner of her heart and home.
A dreary void her "bosom's lord" besets,
A life is her's of sighs and vain regrets;
At last, in happy hour, one draweth near,
Whose warbled notes fall sweetly on her ear,
With fluttering plumage see he gains her side,
And once again the Widowed Bird's a bride.
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A man should never think once ere he performs a good action; but a thousand times before he does a bad one!
