To a CANARY BIRD

Beautiful bird, of saffron plume, Whose warbling whispers tell the approach of night, With soften'd cadence ushering in the gloom, The solemn gloom devote to calm delight.

Tell me, confin'd within thy wiry cell, The little notes thou chantest so serene, Say, are they plaints thy breast that swell, And is Captivity thy theme?

Or, sever'd from thy lovely mate, Her loss dost thou bewail? And all thy little wrongs relate In melancholy tale?

Ah, no! so soft, so sweet a strain Vibrates not like the moan of pain; Such tones as from thy bosom flow Ne'er left the bursting heart of woe.

Yet, peaceful, inoffensive guest, Could freedom make thee still more blest, I would unbar thy prison gate, And let thee go, to seek thy fate.

But ah, I know, unskill'd in flight, Through the dark desert should'st thou stray, Thy wings would tire, and ere the mists of night Some cruel bird would on thee prey.

Or else thy little frame expos'd To the raw blasts, and midnight air; Hungry, and faint, and uninclos'd, Thou would'st, my songster, perish there.

Stay then sweet PAN, and when the morning's light Steals through the op'nings of thy grated dome, Do thou thy pleasing hymning pow'rs resume, Praising the Author of each new delight:

And I, on bended knee most sure, Humbly my lays with thee will join; Nor will my martins be less pure For mounting up to Heaven with thine.