THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
319 
THE CUCKOO AND THE BEE. 
" My dearest cuckoo/^ said a bee, 
" ^Tis right to celebrate the spring ; 
But evermore the self-same strain to sing 
Year after year, day after day, 
Is somewhat to abuse one's liberty. 
And really, I must insist, 
You wake us with some newer lay, 
If you'd be held a first-rate vocalist.^' 
" My little friend,^' the cuckoo cried, 
" It well becomes you to endeavour, 
From us to take our well-known song away ; 
You, who the self-same track pursue for ever ! 
Pray, what new architecture have you tried, 
Through all the centuries you've spent 
[n making wax, and gathering honey ? 
Your hexagons, they are not for my money ; — 
And certainly you might invent 
New shapes, without the detriment 
My voice would suffer from new trills and quavers.*' 
A most untenable excuse,^' 
The bee retorts ; " buildings are not like songs ; 
Your law is pleasure, ours is use ; 
