 | Poems on several occasions |  |
THE BLACKBIRD.
To whom does grateful verse belong?
Who but the Blackbird claims my song?
When all the natives of the grove
Yielded obeisance to the Dove,
How cheerful on the green-wood spray
He warbled through the live-long day!
His music gladden'd every hill;
All but Canary-birds were still.
The Finches, a melodious throng,
Would sometimes listen to his song;
And, pleased with his harmonious lays,
Though seldom imitate, would praise.
Who but the Blackbird claims my song?
When all the natives of the grove
Yielded obeisance to the Dove,
How cheerful on the green-wood spray
He warbled through the live-long day!
His music gladden'd every hill;
All but Canary-birds were still.
The Finches, a melodious throng,
Would sometimes listen to his song;
And, pleased with his harmonious lays,
Though seldom imitate, would praise.
434
Now foes inhuman pluck his wing,
And cage him, that he should not sing,
Nor chant his native wood-notes free,
But lose the thoughts of liberty.
And cage him, that he should not sing,
Nor chant his native wood-notes free,
But lose the thoughts of liberty.
Say, shall recording verse disclose
The names and natures of his foes?
The boding Screech-owl, prophet sad;
The Vulture, feeder on the dead;
The Harpy, ravenous and impure;
The Hawk, obsequious to the lure;
The noisy, senseless, chattering Pie,
The mere Lord William of the sky.
Nor shall the Bat unmention'd be:
A mongrel, twilight trimmer he.
When empire is on Fowls conferr'd,
He claps his wings, and is a bird.
When stronger Beasts the conquest get,
He lights and walks upon four feet,
With crafty flight and subtle pace,
Still safe without an Act of Grace.
The names and natures of his foes?
The boding Screech-owl, prophet sad;
The Vulture, feeder on the dead;
The Harpy, ravenous and impure;
The Hawk, obsequious to the lure;
The noisy, senseless, chattering Pie,
The mere Lord William of the sky.
Nor shall the Bat unmention'd be:
A mongrel, twilight trimmer he.
When empire is on Fowls conferr'd,
He claps his wings, and is a bird.
When stronger Beasts the conquest get,
He lights and walks upon four feet,
With crafty flight and subtle pace,
Still safe without an Act of Grace.
The Kite fit gaoler must be named,
In prose and verse already famed;
Bold to kill mice, and now and then
To steal a chicken from a hen;
None readier was, when seized, to slay,
And after to dissect, his prey;
With all the insolence can rise
From power when join'd to cowardice.
The captive Blackbird kept his cheer:
The gaoler anxious shook with fear,
Lest roguy traitors should conspire
To' unbolt the door, or break the wire;
Traitors, if they but silence broke,
And disaffected, if they look.
For, by himself he judged, his prey,
If once let loose, would fly away.
Conscious of weakness when alone,
He dares not trust him, one to one.
So, every day and every hour,
He shows his caution and his power.
Each water-drop he close inspects,
And every single seed dissects;
Nay, swears, with a suspicious rage,
He'll shut the air out of the cage.
The Blackbird with a look replies,
That flash'd majestic from his eyes.
Not sprung of eagle-brood, the Kite
Falls prostrate, grovelling, at the sight.
A hero thus, with awful air,
(If birds with heroes may compare,)
A ruffian greatly could dismay:
“Man, darest thou Caius Marius slay?”
Blasted the coward-wretch remains,
And owns the Roman, though in chains.
In prose and verse already famed;
Bold to kill mice, and now and then
To steal a chicken from a hen;
None readier was, when seized, to slay,
And after to dissect, his prey;
With all the insolence can rise
From power when join'd to cowardice.
The captive Blackbird kept his cheer:
The gaoler anxious shook with fear,
435
To' unbolt the door, or break the wire;
Traitors, if they but silence broke,
And disaffected, if they look.
For, by himself he judged, his prey,
If once let loose, would fly away.
Conscious of weakness when alone,
He dares not trust him, one to one.
So, every day and every hour,
He shows his caution and his power.
Each water-drop he close inspects,
And every single seed dissects;
Nay, swears, with a suspicious rage,
He'll shut the air out of the cage.
The Blackbird with a look replies,
That flash'd majestic from his eyes.
Not sprung of eagle-brood, the Kite
Falls prostrate, grovelling, at the sight.
A hero thus, with awful air,
(If birds with heroes may compare,)
A ruffian greatly could dismay:
“Man, darest thou Caius Marius slay?”
Blasted the coward-wretch remains,
And owns the Roman, though in chains.
“Tell Dr. Arbuthnot,” says Pope in a letter to Gay, “that even pigeon-pies and hogs'-puddings are thought dangerous by our governors: for, those that have been sent to the bishop of Rochester are opened and profanely pried into at the Tower. It is the first time that dead pigeons have been suspected of carrying intelligence.”
| Poems on several occasions | |