Ode upon Liberty, III

In all the freeborn nations of the air, Never did bird a spirit so mean and sordid bear As to exchange his native liberty Of soaring boldly up into the sky, His liberty to sing, to perch, or fly When, and wherever he thought good, And all his innocent pleasures of the wood, For a more plentiful or constant food. Nor ever did ambitious rage Make him into a painted cage Or the false forest of a well-hung room For honour and preferment come. Now, blessings on ye all, ye heroic race, Who keep their primitive powers and rights so well Though men and angels fell. Of all material lives the highest place To you is justly given, And ways and walks the nearest Heaven; Whilst wretched we, yet vain and proud, think fit To boast that we look up to it. Even to the universal tyrant Love You homage pay but once a year; None so degenerous and unbirdly prove, As his perpetual yoke to bear. None but a few unhappy household fowl, Whom human lordship does control; Who from their birth corrupted were By bondage, and by man’s example here.