W. Wordsworth.
THE PARROT.
A TRUE STORY.
The deep affections of the breast
That heaven to living things imparts,
Are not exclusively possessed
By human hearts.
A Parrot, from the Spanish main,
Full young and early caged came o'er,
With bright wings, to the bleak domain
Of Mulla's shore.
To spicy groves where he had won
His plumage of resplendent hue,
His native fruits, and skies, and sun,
He bade adieu.
For these he changed the smoke of turf,
A heathery land and misty sky,
And turned on rocks and raging surf
His golden eye.
But petted in our climate cold,
He lived and chattered many a day:
Until with age, from green and gold
His wings grew gray.