“A prisoner there, with a useless wing,
I looked with sorrow on every thing;
I lost my voice, and forgot my song,
And mourned in silence, the whole day long.
“But I will go back, with a mellower pipe,
And sing, when the cherries are round and ripe;
On the topmost bough, as I lock my feet,
To help myself, in my leafy seat.
“My merriest notes shall there be heard,
To draw her eye to her franchised bird;
The burden, then, of my song shall be,
‘Earth for the wingless! but air for me!’”
[DAME BIDDY.]
Dame Biddy abode in a coop,
Because it so chanced, that dame Biddy
Had round her a family group
Of chicks, young, and helpless and giddy.
And when she had freedom to roam,
She fancied the life of a ranger;
And led off her brood, far from home,
To fall into mischief or danger.
She ’d trail through the grass to be mown,
And call all her children to follow;
And scratch up the seeds that were sown,
Then, lie in their places and wallow.
She ’d go where the corn in the hill,
Its first little blade had been shooting,
And try, by the strength of her bill,
To learn if the kernel was rooting.