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| 27. | XXVII. RARE BIRD OF THE WEST. |
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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
XXVII. RARE BIRD OF THE WEST.
Rare bird of the West! where the pride of the prairie
Can boast of no blossom to rival your blush,
Oh, fold for one moment your wing wild and airy,
And, while I sing to you, your sweet warble hush.
Can boast of no blossom to rival your blush,
Oh, fold for one moment your wing wild and airy,
And, while I sing to you, your sweet warble hush.
Fair bird of the West! where the sky bent above you,
So fondly it lent half its light to your eye,
Where the wild flower you tripp'd over look'd up to love you,
And the happy wave paused o'er your picture to sigh.
So fondly it lent half its light to your eye,
Where the wild flower you tripp'd over look'd up to love you,
And the happy wave paused o'er your picture to sigh.
You dream'd not, while sporting in freedom and pleasure,
Of cages and nets that would fetter your wing;
But oh! let me warn you—too rare is the treasure—
The fowler, the hunter have both heard you sing.
Of cages and nets that would fetter your wing;
But oh! let me warn you—too rare is the treasure—
The fowler, the hunter have both heard you sing.
385
They are up, on the track—oh! be prudent and wary—
They have nets, they have cages of iron and gold;
Look well to your pinion, sweet bird of the prairie,
And shame, with that blue eye, the false and the bold.
They have nets, they have cages of iron and gold;
Look well to your pinion, sweet bird of the prairie,
And shame, with that blue eye, the false and the bold.
There is one who would cherish, and love the least ringlet
That floats o'er your young cheek, or kisses your neck,
Who would guard every wave of your exquisite winglet,
And toil for earth's treasures your beauty to deck:
That floats o'er your young cheek, or kisses your neck,
Who would guard every wave of your exquisite winglet,
And toil for earth's treasures your beauty to deck:
But he has no claim to your lightest smile, Mary,
He can but sing truly, though may be too bold;
“Look well to your pinion, wild bird of the prairie!
Beware of their cages of iron and gold.”
He can but sing truly, though may be too bold;
“Look well to your pinion, wild bird of the prairie!
Beware of their cages of iron and gold.”
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |