THE GAY-PLUMED BIRD.
Thou gay-plumed bird, whose never-bridled flight
O'er field, o'er forest, is one long delight;
Were I a gay-plumed bird, how blest 't would be
Thy songs to sing, to fly, to rest with thee,
Thou gay-plumed bird!
Thou gay-plumed bird, thou canst no longer sing!
Thou art imprisoned by the fowler's spring;
Were I a gay-plumed bird, I would not go
Sporting with such delusive treacheries. No!
Thou gay-plumed bird!
Thou gay-plumed bird, though liberty is gone,
Yet kindness waits thy every want upon;
Were I a gay-plumed bird, I still should long
For the free heaven and the wild woodland song,
Thou gay-plumed bird!
Thou gay-plumed bird, thy golden chain to me
Were but a decorated misery!
Were I a gay-plumed bird, I would not fill
Thy gaudy prison, were it gaudier still,
Thou gay-plumed bird!
