Classic Poem

I.

Pope, in absence of his pain ,
Easy, negligent, and gay,
With the fair , in am'rous vein,
Lively, as the smiling day ,
Talk'd, and toy'd, the hours away.

II.

Tuneful, o'er Belinda 's chair,
Finely cag'd, a Linnet hung;
Breath'd its little soul in air,
Flutt'ring round its mansion sprung;
And its carrols sweetly sung.

III.

Winding, from the fair one's eye ,
On her feather'd slave , to gaze;
Meant , cry'd Pope , to wing the sky ,
Yet, a captive , all thy days,
How dost thou this musick raise!

IV.

Since, a prisoner , thou can'st sing ,
Sportive, airy, wanton, here ,
Hadst thou liberty of wing ,
How thy melody would chear!
How transport the list'ning ear!

V.

No, reply'd the warbling song.
Rais'd — articulate , and clear!
Now , to wish me free , were wrong;
Loftier , in my native sphere ,
But, with fewer friends , than here .

VI.

Tho' with grief, my fate you see,
Many a poet's is the same;
Aw'd, secluded, and unfree,
Humble avarice of fame,
Keeps 'em fetter'd, own'd , and tame .

VII.

To our feeders , they, and I,
Lend our lives , in narrow bound ;
Perch'd, within our owner's eye,
Gay, we hop, the gilded round,
Changing, neither note , nor ground .

VIII.

For, should freedom break our chain ,
Tho' the self-dependent flight
Would, to heav'n exalt our strain ;
Yet, unheard , and out of sight ,
All our praise were forfeit, by't.