Poems. Volume II / H. F. Gould [electronic text]

THE YELLOW BIRD.

THEY'VE caught my little brother, And he was to me a twin! They stole him from our mother, And the cage has shut him in!

I flitted by and found him, Where he looked so sad and sick, With the gloomy wires around him, As he crouched upon a stick.

And, when I tried to cheer him With the cherry in my bill, To see me there so near him, Oh! it made him sadder still.

His tender eye was shining With the brightness of despair, With sorrow and repining, As he bade me have a care!

He said they'd come and take me, As they'd taken him; and then, A hopeless prisoner make me, In the fearful hands of men:—

That once in their dominion, I should have to pine away, And never stretch a pinion To my very dying day:—

That the wings that God had made him For freedom in the air, Since than had thus betrayed him, Were stiff and useless there.

And, the little darling fellow, As he showed his golden vest, He said beneath the yellow, He'd a sad and aching breast:—

That since he'd been among them, They had ruffled it so much, The only song he'd sung them, Was a shriek beneath their touch.

How can they love to see him So sickly and so sad, When, if they would but free him, He'd be so well and glad?

My little hapless brother! I would fain his bondage share, I never had another, And he's a captive there!