Chapter 63

ARCHY: I’ll go live under the ivy that overgrows the terrace, and count the tears shed on its old [roots?] as the [wind?] plays the song of

‘A widow bird sate mourning Upon a wintry bough.’ _5 [SINGS] Heigho! the lark and the owl! One flies the morning, and one lulls the night:— Only the nightingale, poor fond soul, Sings like the fool through darkness and light.

‘A widow bird sate mourning for her love _10 Upon a wintry bough; The frozen wind crept on above, The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare. No flower upon the ground, _15 And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel’s sound.’

NOTE: