XVI.

Not with a club the heart is broken, Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see it. I've known

To lash the magic creature Till it fell, Yet that whip's name too noble Then to tell.

Magnanimous of bird By boy descried, To sing unto the stone Of which it died.

WHO?

My friend must be a bird, Because it flies! Mortal my friend must be, Because it dies! Barbs has it, like a bee. Ah, curious friend, Thou puzzlest me!