Volume 2 — From The Month. INQUIETUS.
Reading edition
We put him in a golden cage With crystal troughs; but still he pined For tracts of royal foliage. And broad blue skies and merry wind. We gave him water cool and dear; All round his golden wires we twined Fresh leaves and blossoms bright, to cheer His restless heart: but still he pined. We whistled and we chirped; but he Trilled never more his liquid falls, But ever yearned for liberty, And dashed against his golden walls. Again, again, in wild despair, He strove to burst his bars aside; At last, beneath his pinion fair, He hid his drooping head and died! And so against the golden bars— Life's golden bars—our poor souls smite. Pining for tracts beyond the stars. Freedom and beauty, truth and light Those bars a Father's hands adorn With leaves and flowers—earth's loveliest things— With crystal draughts; but still we mourn With thirsting for the "living springs." Nor crystal draughts, nor leaves and flowers, The exiled heart can satisfy: We shake the bars; and some few hours We droop and pine, and then we die, We die! But, oh, the prison-bars Are shatter'd then: then far away, We pass beyond the sky, the stars— Beyond the change of night and day.
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