Classic Poem

Hark to the blackbird's pleasing note,
Sweet usher of the vocal throng!
Nature directs his warbling note,
And all that hear admire the song.

Yon bullfinch, with unvaried tone,
Of cadence harsh, and accent shrill,
Has brighter plumage to atone
For want to harmony and skill.

Yet, discontent with nature's boon,
Like man, to mimic art he flies;
On opera-pinions hoping soon
Unrivalled he shall mount the skies.

And while, to please some courtly fair,
He one dull tune with labour learns,
A well-gilt cage remote from air,
And faded plumes, is all he earns!

Go, hapless captive! still repeat
The sounds which nature never taught;
Go, listening fair! and call them sweet,
Because you know them dearly bought.

Unenvied both! go hear and sing
Your studied music o'er and o'er;
Whilst I attend th' inviting spring,
In fields where birds unfettered soar.