The Faithful Bird.
By William Cowper
The greenhouse is my summer seat;
My shrubs displaced from that retreat
Enjoyd 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 missd.
But nature works in every breast,
With force not easily suppressd;
And Dick felt some desires,
That, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain
A pass between his wires.
The open windows seemd to invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;
But Tom was still confined;
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 seemd to say,
You must not live alone
Nor would he quit that chosen stand
Till I, with slow and cautious hand,
Returnd him to his own.
O ye, who never taste the joys
Of Friendship, satisfied with noise
Fandango, ball, and rout!
Blush when I tell you how a bird
A prison with a friend preferrd
To liberty without.