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THE FREE'D BIRD.
81
"It flash'd with the fire of a tameless race,
With the soul of the wild wood, my native place!
With the spirit that panted through heaven to soar—
Woo me not back—I return no more!
"My home is high, amidst rocking trees,
My kindred things are the star and the breeze,
And the fount uncheck'd in its lonely play,
And the odours that wander afar, away!"
Farewell, farewell, then, Bird!
I have call'd on spirits gone,
And it may be they joy'd like thee to part,
Like thee, that wert all my own!
"If they were captives, and pined like me,
Though love may guard them, they joy'd to be free!
They sprang from the earth with a burst of power,
To the strength of their wings, to their triumph's hour!
