Classic Poem

Hard was the heart that, from thy native spray,
Bore thee, sweet bird! that cruel cage to fill;
How languid, now, thy once melodious lay!
Tho' rich thy prison, 'tis a prison still:
The glossy radiance of thy golden bill
Is pale; and ruffled all thy sloe-black breast;
Lost like thy mellow note's ecstatic trill,
Wont, by its wild extravagance, t' attest
Thon wert beyond thy plumy brethren blest;
Once more, thou sigh'st, amid the woodlands free,
Thy glib eye brighten'd, and thy garb new-drest,
Thy old compeers, and little loves to see,
Ah! never may the wretch, who wrong'd thy nest,
Know the rich bliss of careless liberty!