Part 2 — CXXII

The greenhouse is my summer seat; My shrubs, displaced from that retreat, Enjoy'd the open air; Two goldfinches whose sprightly song Had been their mutual solace long, Lived happy prisoners there. They sang as blithe as finches sing That flutter loose on golden wing, And frolic where they list; Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, But that delight they never knew, And therefore never miss'd. But nature works in every breast, With force not easily suppress'd; And Dick felt some desires, That, after many an effort vain, Instructed him at length to gain A pass between the wires. The open windows seem'd to invite The freeman to a farewell flight; But Tom was still confin'd; And Dick, although his way was clear, Was much too generous and sincere To leave his friend behind. So, settling on his cage, by play, And chirp, and kiss, he seem'd to say, You must not live alone— Nor would he quit that chosen stand, Till I, with slow and cautious hand, Return'd him to his own.