Why dost thou struggle thus?
Does every balmy breeze
That softly fanneth us,
Tell of the waving trees?
Do yonder happy birds
That sing for thee and me,
For chorus have the words
So precious—"I am free?"
Go then, as free as they,
As light and happy roam
With thy companions gay,
Safe in thy forest home.
There—thou art gone; farewell!
My heart leaps up with thine;
And I rejoice to tell
Thou art no longer mine.
I could not breathe the air
Where pining captives dwell;
My freedom thou wilt share,
With joy then, fare-thee-well.
THE OLD MAN.
The old man's cheek was wet with tears,
And his wrinkled brow was pale,
As after a lapse of many years
He stood in his native vale.
The warblers sang in the leafy bough,
And the earth was robed in green;
But the old man's heart beat sadly now
While he gazed on the lovely scene.
The stream ran clear to the distant sea,
The same as he saw it last;
And sitting beneath an old elm tree,
He thought of days in the past.
He thought how he climbed the verdant hill,
Or roved through the forest wild,
Or traced to its source the rippling rill,
A gay and careless child.