THE CAPTIVE BIRD 



O HAPLESS captive, held by prison bars, 

 From all of joy and hope in life apart, 



Once of the free and joyous woodland throng 

 That fills the fragrant air with vibrant song 

 From palest dawn till waking of the stars, 

 Dost thou still hold the image in thine heart 



Of all those lovely scenes— the budding flower, 

 In verdant meadow, where the zephyr swayed 

 The crimson clover to the wand'ring bee ; 

 The glory of the bloom-crowned apple tree 

 Where, hid from ruthless gaze in April hour. 

 To thy dear mate thy try sting vows were made? 



Oh, tell me, captive with the mournful lay. 



That well might touch the coldest heart to hear, 

 Doth memory's torment follow also thee? 

 Is that the secret of the dews I see 

 iUpon thine eyes, that gaze so far away, 



As if through walls of granite thou could'st peer? 



Does still the image of thy gentle mate 



Dwell in thy soul, with whom thou e'er didst fly 

 With each recurring spring to seek again 

 That loved spot where hope and joy did reign. 

 Where near the downy nest thou didst await 

 With swelling song thy tender brood's first cry? 



Ah, surely, this the secret font must be 

 Of that supernal pathos in thy song. 



That floods my soul with wistful memories 

 Of lost delights, as floods the twilight breeze 

 The swaying pines with mournful harmony, 

 Whose sobbing chords to spirit choirs belong. 



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