From the French of Marie Jenna.
He is all yours—'tis true—for life or death,
The hollow of your hand contains his fate,
You have the power to still his dulcet breath
And make the grove he dwelt in desolate.
You hold him!—He is weak and you are strong,
But pity may his liberty restore.
Let him to shade and summer still belong,
It is so sweet to live—with wings to soar!