The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard With a Memoir by Blanchard Jerrold |
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THE CHILD AND HER CAPTIVE.
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 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
210
THE CHILD AND HER CAPTIVE.
‘Bird, you are mine!’ said a bird-like child,
Ardent, graceful, sensitive, wild;
‘I am your mistress, you are my own;
Caught on the window-sill where you had flown.
Ardent, graceful, sensitive, wild;
‘I am your mistress, you are my own;
Caught on the window-sill where you had flown.
‘Here in this cage, all glittering, new,
Bought, you must know, on purpose for you,
With leaves and seeds, and water to drink,
You must be always happy, I think.’
Bought, you must know, on purpose for you,
With leaves and seeds, and water to drink,
You must be always happy, I think.’
With many a sweetly-prattled word
The child saluted her captive bird;
With glistening eyes for hours she gazed,
And wondered he sang not while she praised.
The child saluted her captive bird;
With glistening eyes for hours she gazed,
And wondered he sang not while she praised.
‘Sing, my bird!’ And all day long
Her ears were open to catch the song.
In vain—'twas surely a singular thing
That a bird so happy refused to sing!
Her ears were open to catch the song.
In vain—'twas surely a singular thing
That a bird so happy refused to sing!
Morning again. Ah, now his throat
Will swell with many an exquisite note!
Silent! How strange that a bird should be
Mute in a cage who sang on a tree!
Will swell with many an exquisite note!
Silent! How strange that a bird should be
Mute in a cage who sang on a tree!
211
Again she listened her morning away;
And listened, and wondered, day by day;
His cage was darkened, his sugar was stopped—
Still not a chirrup the prisoner dropped.
And listened, and wondered, day by day;
His cage was darkened, his sugar was stopped—
Still not a chirrup the prisoner dropped.
A spell is upon him; 'tis sunny spring;
He has nothing on earth to do but sing.
Hark! What a note! Was it his? You see
The singer out there on the apple-tree.
He has nothing on earth to do but sing.
Hark! What a note! Was it his? You see
The singer out there on the apple-tree.
The child is asleep. As her eyelids close,
Thousands of wires in golden rows,
Gleaming like sunbeams, shot from the ground,
And forming a circle, encaged her round.
Thousands of wires in golden rows,
Gleaming like sunbeams, shot from the ground,
And forming a circle, encaged her round.
That graceful, playful, laugh-loving child,
She who but now might ramble wild
From sport to sport of her innocent age;
Ah! she is caught, like a bird in her cage.
She who but now might ramble wild
From sport to sport of her innocent age;
Ah! she is caught, like a bird in her cage.
Quite, quite shut in; she scarce respires,
Her heart is pierced by those sharp gold-wires;
But a giant Bird is her keeper the while,
And she must gambol, and sing, and smile!
Her heart is pierced by those sharp gold-wires;
But a giant Bird is her keeper the while,
And she must gambol, and sing, and smile!
The glorious noon seems deep midnight;
But the child's despair is the bird's delight;
And she must lament, the whole day long,
Her freedom lost—in laughter and song.
But the child's despair is the bird's delight;
And she must lament, the whole day long,
Her freedom lost—in laughter and song.
212
The child is awake; and, with eager hands
On the window-sill the cage she stands;
She opens the door; the bird is free!
Hark! how he sings on the apple-tree.
On the window-sill the cage she stands;
She opens the door; the bird is free!
Hark! how he sings on the apple-tree.
1836.
| The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard | |