Why tarries my love?
Ah! where does he rove?
My love is long absent from me:
Come hither, my dove,--
I'll write to my love,
And send him a letter by thee.

To find him, swift fly!
The letter I'll tie
Secure to thy leg with a string:
Ah! not to my leg,
Fair lady, I beg,
But fasten it under my wing.

Her dove she did deck,
She drew o'er his neck
A bell and a collar so gay;
She tied to his wing
The scroll with a string,
Then kissed him, and sent him away.

It blew and it rain'd;
The pigeon disdained
To seek shelter, undaunted he flew;
Till wet was his wing,
And painful the string,
So heavy the letter it grew.

He flew all around,
Till Colin he found,
Then perch'd on his hand with the prize;
Whose heart, while he reads,
With tenderness bleeds
For the pigeon that flutters and dies.