Poems (Barker)/Bondage
Bondage.
'Tis a beautiful place—I know, Its gildings are finest gold—'Tis the workmanship of a master hand, And his grandest work I'm told!A gilded palace of wealth and fame! A prison, called by another name!
"Your beautiful home," they say, And they utter the words with bliss,Ah! little they know of the restless soul That must soon be caged in this;And they never see a lingering trace Of secret pain on the quiet face.
I've turned with a cry of pain; I've uttered many a prayer;I've drank of pleasure's festal cup, And mingled with despair;But my soul is filled with a constant fear, And the jailor's voice through all I hear.
And I fain would turn and fly To the farthest bound of earth;I fain would utter a prayer to die And curse my wretched birth!But a gilded chain still holds me back, And binds my soul to a cruel rack.
And I fain would turn and fly To the farthest bound of earth;I fain would utter a prayer to die And curse my wretched birth!But a gilded chain still holds me back, And binds my soul to a cruel rack.
I shall be like a prisoned bird— A bird of the greenwood tree!Flittering among the singing birds Who will never care for me.They will mock at my simple little song, And my poor brown coat as I join the throng.