The Faithful Bird.

The greenhouse is my summer seat;     My shrubs displaced from that retreat     Enjoyd the open air;     Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song     Had been their mutual solace long,     Lived happy prisoners there.     They sang as blithe as finches sing,     That flutter loose on golden wing,     And frolic where they list;     Strangers to liberty, tis true,     But that delight they never knew,     And therefore never missd.     But nature works in every breast,     With force not easily suppressd;     And Dick felt some desires,     That, after many an effort vain,     Instructed him at length to gain     A pass between his wires.     The open windows seemd to invite     The freeman to a farewell flight;     But Tom was still confined;     And Dick, although his way was clear,     Was much too generous and sincere     To leave his friend behind.     So settling on his cage, by play,     And chirp, and kiss, he seemd to say,     You must not live alone     Nor would he quit that chosen stand     Till I, with slow and cautious hand,     Returnd him to his own.     O ye, who never taste the joys     Of Friendship, satisfied with noise     Fandango, ball, and rout!     Blush when I tell you how a bird     A prison with a friend preferrd     To liberty without.