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86 Woe to the weak and wicked bird, The careless envoy!—I have heard, That in the thicket he lies low, Pierced by a shaft from vig’rous bow! Again, my cuckoo, take to flight, And to the glorious paragon, Through the green hazels hurry on, And with expanded wings alight! And give into bright Essyllt’s hand My letter, full of praises sweet; Upon the birch grove take thy stand, And thence for me the beauty greet! Bell of the bush—warbler, whose lay Lasts through the livelong summer’s day! Cuckoo! attired in robes of grey, Thou serpent of the thicket—soar Hence to the plane tree by her door! With thy sweet “treble” summon her, My simple woodland messenger! And I from bush to bush will trace Thy pinions to the trysting place, Where thou must bring the maiden meek, Of golden locks—with me to speak!