Classic Poem

A MAGPYE , of her cage grown tir'd,
Had long her liberty desir'd;
Ill fed, as she was close confin'd,
A clear escape she well design'd;
The door left open on a day,
Mag took French leave, and hopp'd away.
With joy she sought a neighb'ring wood,
Where various tuneful birds she view'd;
But striving here to join the train,
She found her utmost efforts vain;
The little songsters, fill'd with dread,
Soon as they saw the stranger, fled;
The larger sort, as on she went,
Approach'd, but with no good intent;
Upon the truant bird they fall,
Resolv'd to chace her, one and all;
From tree to tree the wand'rer roves,
And with " Poor Mag! " she fills the groves;
'Till forc'd to quit the friendly shade,
And by her babbling throat betray'd,
Surpris'd by those she fled in vain,
They bear her to her cage again.
More close confin'd, how hard her lot!
Yet those who knew her pity not:
Taught now her folly to despise,
Pining she lives ; neglected dies .