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265
THE GANDER IN POUND.
One day a wise old Gander foundA friend of his shut up in pound;
Who soon conveyed his grievous wrongs
In tone that to such tale belongs.
As down the road he took a stroll,
Without offence to living soul,—
One of the frightful monster-birds,
Those gabblers of unfowlish words,
Nips him between its bony wings,
And into this vile dungeon flings;
Where he must starve to death, alas!
Without a single blade of grass.
“O Liberty, thou Goddess fair,
No more may I thy blessings share;
Nor see my little goslings' face;
Expiring in this dismal place!”
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He thrust his head beneath his wing,
And as he stood, appeared to have
One leg already in the grave.
While feathered sage from wall-top ansered,
In speech were no disgrace to Hansard:
“My friend, 'tis plain you need not bear
One hour's starvation or despair,
If you will merely condescend
Your lazy thrapple to unbend;
Let down your leg, shake either wing,
And on the wall beside me spring.
The height 's the same, within, without;
Your pinions are more young and stout
Than mine; so if you choose to try,
You're in a moment free as I.”
Thus spake (he must have been a Solan)
The ancient bird. As our days roll on,
Perhaps his counsel may avail
In some like case to hit the nail.
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