To A Redbreast, That Flew Into The House, And Suffered Itself To Be Taken By The Hand Of The Authore

FEAR not, sweet Bird! thy flutt'ring cease,
Nor deem thy freedom fled:
Soon shalt thou feel thy glad release;
No evil need'st thou dread.
The hand that grasps thy downy plumes,
Its prize shall soon forego;
No heart thy life to thraldom dooms,
Nor triumphs in thy woe.
Go, guiltless captive, sport in air,
New plume thy ruffled wing;
To yonder waving spray repair,
Thy sprightly warblings sing.
In search of spotless pleasures rove,
Go seek thy anxious mate,
And mid thy brethren of the grove,
Th' eventful tale relate.
Go, say what fears thy breast alarm'd,
Lest Cruelty's fell knife,
Th' unfeeling hand of Sport had arm'd,
To end thy hapless life.
How sudden Anguish fix'd her wound;
How thy swoln bosom beat,
Lest some sad prison's wiry bound
Should all thy joys defeat.
Thy glad escape delighted tell,
And grant my only boon;
Oft near the cottage where I dwell
Thy grateful carols tune.
When chilly snow conceals the land,
And storms pervade the skies,
And surly Winter's icy hand
Th' accustom'd food denies,
With cautious, timid glance no more
Athwart the threshold steal,
But fearless pass the op'ning door,
And pick thy plenteous meal.
O come, and Nature's bounty share,
A free and welcome guest;
No ruthless grasp, nor tangling snare,
Shall e'er thy steps molest.