Cum list to me, ye Breydoners, while I tell in lines of rhyme. Of our doin’s in the old days what have fled on wings of time; When the old flats swarmed with wildfowl; when the godwicks came in clouds; And the pipin’ full-eyed plovers roamed the ooze in feedin’ crowds; When the gay old mallards joined ‘em for the dibble up the ponds; While the fludd tide driv’ the curlews for a gossip on the ronds. But the glory’s gone for ever, our old pals lie in the dust, And the fowl have with ‘em vanished, and the ducks gone to rust.