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lirik lagu richard mitchley - a captive throstle by alfred austin

poor little mite with mottled breast
half—fledged, and fallen from the nest
for whom this world hath just begun
who want to fly, yet scarce can run;
why open wide your yellow beak?
is it for hunger, or to speak—
to tell me that you fain would be
loosed from my hand to liberty?

well, you yourself decide your fate
but be not too precipitate
which will you have? if you agree
to quit the lanes, and lodge with me
i promise you a bed more soft
even than that where you aloft
first opеned wondering eyеs, and found
a world of green leaves all around
when you awake, you straight shall see
a fresh turf, green and velvety
well of clear water, sifted seed
all things, in short, that bird can need;
and gentle beings, far more fair
than build on bough, or skim through air
when all without is wet and bleak
laying against your cage their cheek
to make you pipe shall coax and coo
and bud their pretty lips at you
and when the clammy winter rain
drips from the roof and clouds the pane
when windows creak and chimneys roar
and beggars wail outside the door
and stretch out fingers lank and thin
you shall be safely housed within
and through the wood—fire’s fl!ckering glow
watch drifting leaves or driving snow
till marian pulls the shutters up
and you go sleep, and i go sup
but now suppose i let you go
to rains that beat, to winds that blow
to heedless chance and prowling foe?
mayhap this very day, alas!
you will be drowned in tangled grass:
or, that escaped, some slinking stoat
may seize and suck your speckled throat;
or hawk slow wheeling in the sky
your fluttering feeble wings descry
and, straightway downward flashing thence
relish and rend your innocence
should you survive, and glad and strong
make autumn spring—like with your song
you will be lured, the very first
where netted berries bulge and burst
and, by their guardian caught alive
you may, before i can arrive
to bid him not be so unsparing
have paid the forfeit of your daring
time too will come, there will not be
berry on bush, or pod on tree
stripped be the hawth~rn, bare the holly
and all the boughs drip melancholy;
and you will have to scr~pe for food
amid a frosty solitude
which shall it be? now quick decide!
safety confined, or peril wide?

then did the little bird reply:
“’tis true, as yet i scarce can fly;
but oh! it is such joy to try!
just as you came, i was beginning
to win my wings, exult in winning;
to feel the promptings of the pinion
the dawn of a divine dominion
over the empty air, and over
fields of young wheat and breadths of clover:
pledge of a power to scale, some day
my native elm—tree’s topmost spray
and mid the leaves and branches warm
sing far beyond the reach of harm
and shall i barter gift like this
for doled—out joy and measured bliss?
for a trim couch and dainty fare
forfeit the freedom of the air?
shall i exchange for punctual food
april’s sweet loves and summer’s brood;
the dewy nest ‘neath twinkling stars
for crushing roof and cramping bars?
no! come what chance or foe that may
menace of death this very day
the weasel’s clutch, the falcon’s swoop—
what if these k!ll? they do not coop
autumn’s worst ambush, winter’s rage
are sweeter than the safest cage.”
off, little mite! i let you fly
and do as i would be done by

nature within your heart hath sown
a wisdom wiser than my own
and from your choice i learn to prize
the birth—right of unbounded skies
delightful danger of being free
sweet sense of insecurity;
the privilege to risk one’s all
on being nor captive, caged, nor thrall
the wish to range, the wing to soar
past sp~ce behind, through sp~ce before
the ecstasy of unknown flight
the doubt, the danger, the delight
to range and roam, unchained, unvext
nor know what worlds will open next;
and, since death waits both caged and free
to die, at least, of liberty

- lirik lagu richard mitchley

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