THE SPARROW. 



Fair captive ! why this joyous lay, 



When sad should be thy heart I 

 Alt thinking of a happier day, 



Forgetful what thou art ? 



Perchance, while high thy music floats, 



Where ne'er thy wings may flee, 

 Thy spirit rises with thy notes, 



For they, at least, are free ! 



Thy song goes forth among the trees, 



And up to heaven's high dome. 

 And haply bears thee o'er the seas 



To thy own island home. 



Poor bird ! could'st thou come forth with me, 



I 'd lead thee to the grove. 

 Where all that 's known of slavery 



Is servitude to love ! 



How sweet to join our airy chase. 



Or cower within thy nest. 

 Yet only hound to that one place 



Because thou loved'st it best ! 



Alas, alas ! the wish is vain. 



Thy prison-bars are strong ; 

 But I will come to thee again. 



Adieu, sweet bird of song ! ' 



Away it flew, but day by day, 



Return'd with gather'd food, 

 And through long months, the watchers say, 



Went on this work of good. 



I felt my noblest thoughts ascend. 

 Such heaven-taught love to trace. 



And deem'd, perchance, this captive's friend, 

 The Howard of its race ! " 



75 



