 | Moral songs |  |
THE LOST FAVOURITE.
“It is dead, it is quite, quite dead,
No flutter at its breast;
Without a stir above its heart
The yellow feathers rest.
No flutter at its breast;
Without a stir above its heart
The yellow feathers rest.
“Its tiny beak is close shut up,
Its eyes are glazed, and dim,
Its wings hang down on either side,
It cannot move a limb.
Its eyes are glazed, and dim,
Its wings hang down on either side,
It cannot move a limb.
“Was it for this, poor pretty pet,
I taught you, note by note,
Till I have heard the whole sweet air,
Come thrilling from your throat?
I taught you, note by note,
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Come thrilling from your throat?
“Was it for this, with finger light,
I stroked your golden head,
While you have seemed to love my touch,
And know the words I said?
I stroked your golden head,
While you have seemed to love my touch,
And know the words I said?
“For this, you learned to strut, and bow,
And many tricks to do?
No bird in cage, or open air,
Was half as wise as you.
And many tricks to do?
No bird in cage, or open air,
Was half as wise as you.
“O cruel cat, how could you lay
On his slight cage your paw,
And strike him through the silver bars,
And kill him with your claw?
On his slight cage your paw,
And strike him through the silver bars,
And kill him with your claw?
“I wish that some great savage dog
Would eat you up some day,
When you lie snugly fast asleep,
Out in the warm sun ray.”
Would eat you up some day,
When you lie snugly fast asleep,
Out in the warm sun ray.”
“O hush, my love,” the mother said,
Who heard her child lament;
“To teach you patience in distress
Your little griefs are sent.
Who heard her child lament;
“To teach you patience in distress
Your little griefs are sent.
“And you have lost your tiny pet,
I know 'tis hard to part;
But you must have no vengeful thought,
No anger in your heart.
I know 'tis hard to part;
But you must have no vengeful thought,
No anger in your heart.
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“'Tis pussy's nature to do so,
She did not think it wrong;
Nor knew how very much you loved
Your own canary's song.
She did not think it wrong;
Nor knew how very much you loved
Your own canary's song.
“Your bird is dead, but we are left,
Sweet heart, who love you more.
Then let them dig his little grave,
And give your sobbing o'er.
Sweet heart, who love you more.
Then let them dig his little grave,
And give your sobbing o'er.
“And cover o'er his burial place,
With pretty stones, and moss,
Then patient soothe your swelling breast,
And meekly bear your loss.”
With pretty stones, and moss,
Then patient soothe your swelling breast,
And meekly bear your loss.”
| Moral songs | |