Say, little caged flutterer, say,
Why mournful waves thy drooping wing?
Why silent sit, the live-long day?
Nor Vespers chaunt, nor Matins sing.
When first a captive thou wert made
And in thy wiry dwelling swung,
Suspended in the leafy shade
Or sunny door, you gaily sung.
My careful hand supplied thee store
Of ripest berries from the hill;
Thy cup replenished, strewed thy floor
With glittering gravel from the rill.
Beneath the same luxuriant vine,
The same kind hand supplies thy fare;
The sun's first cheering rays are thine,
Yet thou art sad and silent there.
Ah! little captive, couldst thou see
What passes in this wayward breast,
Thou'dst ask, perhaps, the same of me,
And why vain wishes break my rest.
Thou'dst ask me, why this quiet shade
Which late a paradise I deem'd,
Though still in verdant sweets array'd,
A melancholy prison seemed?
And bid me mind, each passing day
That wholesome viands crown'd my board,
That flowers and fruits and sunshine gay
For me, too, vernal sweets afford.
Nay, more,--that liberty is mine
And lends a ray to every joy--
While sad captivity is thine,
Mingling with all its sad alloy.
Thou "still small voice" that will be heard,
Whose whispers thrill the inmost soul!
Reproving friend--beloved and feared--
Conscience, this is thy mild control!
Oft hast thou urged this conscious truth,
When gloomy tears have fill'd mine eye;
Or discontent, with brow unsmooth,
Was fain to force th' unwilling sigh.
'Tis thy reproving voice I hear,
When from the poor and lowly cot
Content and cheerfulness appear,
Though mark'd by penury their lot.
Then shall I bear a pining heart--
While friendship, health, and peace combine
Life's dearest comforts to impart--
Ah! shall a thankless heart be mine!
No sure--content's too cold a name
For what my bosom ought to feel;
Thus favored, gratitude's sweet claim
With thanks unceasing bids me kneel:
Bids me, thus lowly bending, vow
Before the awful throne of Heaven--
Children of want, to share with you
The good its gracious power has given.
In the lines which we next select, it will be perceived that to minds
of delicate fibre and poetic temperament,--the most familiar objects in
nature will often suggest mournful images and recollections. A flower
will awaken affecting reminiscences of some long lost and beloved
object.