He heard a small bird singing,

and O but it sung sweet!

It sung upon a holly-bush,

this little snow-white bird;

A song so full of gladness

he never before had heard.

[32]

It sung upon a hazel,

it sung upon a thorn;

He had never heard such music

since the hour that he was born.

It sung upon a sycamore,

it sung upon a briar;

To follow the song and hearken

this Abbot could never tire.

Till at last he well bethought him;

he might no longer stay;

So he bless'd the little white singing-bird,

and gladly went his way.

But, when he came to his Abbey,

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