Poems (Craik)/The Canary in his Cage
ING away, ay, sing away, Merry little bird, Always gayest of the gay, Though a woodland roundelay You ne'er sung nor heard; Though your life from youth to age Passes in a narrow cage.
THE CANARY IN HIS CAGE.
ING away, ay, sing away, Merry little bird, Always gayest of the gay, Though a woodland roundelay You ne'er sung nor heard; Though your life from youth to age Passes in a narrow cage. Near the window wild birds fly, Trees are waving round: Fair things everywhere you spy Through the glass pane's mystery, Your small life's small bound: Nothing hinders your desire But a little gilded wire.
Like a human soul you seem Shut in golden bars: Placed amidst earth's sunshine-stream, Singing to the morning beam, Dreaming 'neath the stars; Seeing all life's pleasures clear,—But they never can come near.
Never! Sing, bird-poet mine, As most poets do;—Guessing by an instinct fineAt some happiness divine Which they never knew.Lonely in a prison brightHymning for the world's delight.
Yet, my birdie, you 're content In your tiny cage:Not a carol thence is sentBut for happiness is meant— Wisdom pure as sage:Teaching, the true poet's partIs to sing with merry heart.
So, lie down thou peevish pen, Eyes, shake off all tears;And my wee bird, sing again:I 'll translate your song to men In these future years."Howsoe'er thy lot 's assigned,Bear it with a cheerful mind."