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The poems of George Daniel

... From the original mss. in the British Museum: Hitherto unprinted. Edited, with introduction, notes, and illustrations, portrait, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart: In four volumes

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ODE XXIII.

[Poore bird! I doe not envie thee]

1

Poore bird! I doe not envie thee;
Pleas'd in the gentle Melodie
Of thy owne Song.
Let crabbéd winter Silence all

57

The wingéd Qvire; he never shall
Chaine vp thy Tongve:
Poore Innocent!
When I would please my selfe, I looke on thee;
And gvess some sparkes of that Felicitie,
That Selfe-Content.

2

When the bleake Face of winter Spreads
The Earth, and violates the Meads
Of all their Pride;
When Saples Trees and Flowers are fled,
Backe to their Causes, and lye dead
To all beside;
I see thee Sett,
Bidding defiance to the bitter Ayre,
Vpon a wither'd Spray; by cold made bare,
And drooping yet.

3

There, full in notes, to ravish all
My Earth, I wonder what to call
My dullnes; when
I heare thee, prettye Creature, bring
Thy better odes of Praise, and Sing,
To pussle men:
Poore pious Elfe!
I am instructed by thy harmonie,

58

To sing the Time's vncertaintie,
Safe in my Selfe.

4

Poore Redbrest, caroll out thy Laye,
And teach vs mortalls what to saye.
Here cease the Qvire
Of ayerie Choristers; noe more
Mingle your notes; but catch a Store
From her Sweet Lire;
You are but weake,
Meere summer Chanters; you have neither wing
Nor voice, in winter. Prettie Redbrest, Sing,
What I would speake.