At night they breast to breast had slumbered, In moonbeams’ silver veil did lie On poppy-bed by waves unnumbered, To angels’ sweetest lullaby. Now stand they fresh as early morning, In sprightly mood, all dullness scorning. One cries, “Come, long-legs, come to me!” The stork looks round quite loftily, And straightway to the youngsters striding, He asks them, “Do ye feel like riding?” The boy then answers, “I would try it, So on thy back pray let me sit! On earth ’tis lovely, none deny it, But be not ugly—gently flit!” And up on snowy plumage springing, A shower of down around him flinging, Sat firm. The stork asked, “Lassie, thou, Wilt thou not also travel now And be a child to some good mother?” But no—too timid, shy, this other. They started off. The pleasure craving, So free and wild on stork he flew, And to his sister farewell waving, Until at last was lost to view. And she whose fear her trip prevented, Now wished to be along, repented. She felt so lonely, was not glad, And when next year the stork she had, Who late and early came and started, Her wish to ride next time imparted. He answered, “Come then, naught detaining! ’Twas stupid to refuse last year; Not now the same good mother gaining As he, the boy thou held so dear, For she beneath the turf is sleeping; But come, my little dove, now keeping Most careful hold around my neck, And scream not till our course we check!” And round his neck her arms she twineth, And heaven’s winds his flight assigneth. On earth they grew up well protected, The boy to manhood had attained, A beauteous maiden, she, perfected, When first they met, as seemed ordained. Were early memories, reviving, To draw them soul to soul now striving? Was it the roguish stork, oh say, That thus together brought their way? I think that fate great fondness bore them, When choosing different mothers for them. But thou shouldst see the cot so sightly, The woodland home in which they dwell! The cause of it I know not rightly Why storks just there should thrive so well, And _one_ especially, who hovers On roof which inner chamber covers, And goes and flaps with all his might So crimson-booted, silver-white, And best she worked, the mother hinted, When he had sticks and straws unstinted. Each fall he goes, the habit keeping, But seen each spring again on roof, From there o’er house and garden peeping; And can I judge, or take as proof The children I have seen there playing, Full often has the stork been straying To that fair poppy-covered isle, And now brings lass with winsome smile, And now a lovely boy, a treasure; This must afford him constant pleasure.