 | Traits and trials (1836) |  |
145
THE DEAD ROBIN.
“It is dead—it is dead—it will wake no more
With the earliest light, as it wak'd before—
And singing, as if it were glad to wake,
And wanted our longer sleep to break;
We found it a little unfledg'd thing,
With no plume to smooth and no voice to sing;
The father and mother both were gone,
And the callow nurseling left alone.
With the earliest light, as it wak'd before—
And singing, as if it were glad to wake,
And wanted our longer sleep to break;
We found it a little unfledg'd thing,
With no plume to smooth and no voice to sing;
The father and mother both were gone,
And the callow nurseling left alone.
“For a wind, as fierce as those from the sea,
Had broken the boughs of the apple tree;
The scattered leaves lay thick on the ground,
And among them the nest and the bird we found.
We warm'd it, and fed it, and made it a nest
Of Indian cotton, and watch'd its rest;
Its feathers grew soft, and its wing grew strong,
And happy it seemed as the day was long.
Had broken the boughs of the apple tree;
The scattered leaves lay thick on the ground,
And among them the nest and the bird we found.
We warm'd it, and fed it, and made it a nest
Of Indian cotton, and watch'd its rest;
Its feathers grew soft, and its wing grew strong,
And happy it seemed as the day was long.
“Do you remember its large dark eye,
How it brightened, when one of us came nigh?
How it would stretch its throat and sing,
And beat the osier cage with its wing,
Till we let it forth, and it perched on our hand—
It needed not hood, nor silken band,
Like the falcons we read of, in days gone by,
Linked to the wrist lest away they should fly.
How it brightened, when one of us came nigh?
How it would stretch its throat and sing,
And beat the osier cage with its wing,
Till we let it forth, and it perched on our hand—
It needed not hood, nor silken band,
Like the falcons we read of, in days gone by,
Linked to the wrist lest away they should fly.
146
“But our bird knew not of the free blue air,
He had lived in his cage, and his home was there:
No flight had he in the green wood flown—
He pined not for freedom he never had known!
If he had lived amid leaf and bough
It had been cruel to fetter him now;
For I have seen a poor bird die,
And all for love of his native sky.
He had lived in his cage, and his home was there:
No flight had he in the green wood flown—
He pined not for freedom he never had known!
If he had lived amid leaf and bough
It had been cruel to fetter him now;
For I have seen a poor bird die,
And all for love of his native sky.
“But our's would come to our cup and sip,
And peck the sugar away from our lip—
Would sit on our shoulder and sing, then creep
And nestle in our hands to sleep:
There is the water, and there is the seed—
Its cage hung round with the green chickweed;
But the food is untouched—the song is unheard—
Cold and stiff lies our beautiful bird.”
And peck the sugar away from our lip—
Would sit on our shoulder and sing, then creep
And nestle in our hands to sleep:
There is the water, and there is the seed—
Its cage hung round with the green chickweed;
But the food is untouched—the song is unheard—
Cold and stiff lies our beautiful bird.”
| Traits and trials (1836) | |