A bonny bird I saw when I did rove The far field through: it had a broken wing, (Perhaps some sport a cruel stone did fling) And fluttered on the ground and madly strove To cleave the air, for at a short remove A choir of birds did in the bushes sing; And winds with wooing voice to it did bring A message to escape into the grove And swing to rest. Just then there came a thought,— That sometimes unto cabined lives are borne Sounds from the world outside, and voices call, As to this bird, to those who in the thrall Of Fate may seem to be. Some sit and mourn; Some soar in soul,—contented with their lot. |