Over the sea (ye maids) a wild swan came;

(O maidens) it was but the other day;

Men saw him as he passed, with earnest aim

To some sequestered spot down Norfolk way—

A thing whose like had not been seen for years:

Lament, ye damsels, nor refuse your tears.

Serene, he winged his alabaster flight

Neath the full beams of the mistaken sun

O'er gazing crowds, till at th' unwonted sight

Some unexpected sportsman with a gun

Brought down the bird, all fluff, mid sounding cheers:

Mourn, maidens, mourn, and wipe the thoughtful tears.

Well you may weep. No common bird was he.

Has it not long been known, the whole world wide,

A wild swan is a prince of faerie,

Who comes in such disguise to choose his bride

From those of humble lot and tame careers,

Of whom I now require some punctual tears.

Wherefore, I say, let every scullion-wench

Grieve, nor the dairy-maid from sobs refrain;

The sad postmistress, too, should feel the wrench,

And the lone tweeny of her loss complain;

Let one—let all afflict the listening spheres:

Deplore, ye maids, his fate with rueful tears.

It was for these he sought this teeming land,

High on the silvery wings of old romance;

One knows not where; he had bestowed his hand,

But e'en the least had stood an equal chance

Of such fair triumph, o'er her bitter peers

And the sweet pleasure of their anguished tears.

O prince of faerie! O stately swan!

And ye, whose hopes are with the might-have-beens,

Curst be the wretch through whom those hopes have gone,

Who blew your magic swain to smithereens;

Let your full-sorrows whelm his stricken ears;

Lament, ye damsels, nor refuse your tears.

Dum-dum.