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WHEN day's bright banner, first unfurl'd
Aspiring bird, in thee I find
ADDRESS IN FAVOUR OF A SINGING BIRD.
By an American Lady.
The tuneful strains that glad thy heart,
Ah! whence, obdurate, do they flow? Thy warbler's song, unknown to art, But breathes its little
His life of pleasure but a day,
That transient day, how soon it flies ! Regard, my friend, the plaintive lay,
Restore him to his native skies.
E’er while a tenant of the grove,
And blithest of the feather'd train, He gave to freedom, joy, and love,
The artless, tributary strain.
Indignant see him
cage, With feeble wings its wires assail; And now despair succeeds to rage,
And sorrow pours the mournful tale.
O you, whose fond parental care
First bade my grateful song arise, First taught me how to wing the air,
And range abroad the boundless skies ;
My grief for you, ah! what can tell !
Who, now, each duteous rite performs ? And, when you bid the world farewell, With leaves shall shroud
But oh! still deeper than the rest,
For thee, dear partner of my love!
What clime, what unknown region hears
Thy tender song of sorrow flow ? Who now thy pensive moments cheers,
And soothes or shares thy every woe?
For thee I framed the tuneful lay
Then, tuneful lay, farewell to you ! To all that 's charming, all that 's gay,
And thou, dear flatterer, Hope, adieu !
I've seen a Pheasant from a brake
Start up, spring forth, and soar on high; Its golden plumage, wide display'd,
Seem'd of the lovely rainbow's dye.
Splendid, when cowering on the ground;
But when upsprung, and stretch'd for flight, Oh, never did my wondering eyes
In nature see so fair a sight!
Then rapid as the lightning's gleam,
Or as the Indian arrow flies, Flitted before my eyes the beam
Of joys I since had learn’d to prize.
In vain I stretch'd my eager hands
To press the shadowy pinions down; The dear delight eludes the grasp, —
I find the beauteous treasure flown.
MINUTEST of the feather'd kind,
That thou should'st be