Sing 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 amid 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 fine At some happiness divine Which they never knew. Lonely in a prison bright Hymning for the world's delight.
Yet, my birdie, you're content In your tiny cage: Not a carol thence is sent But for happiness is meant-- Wisdom pure as sage: Teaching the pure poet's part Is 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, Meet it with a cheerful mind."
Te-whit! te-whit! te-whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?
Not I, said the cow, moo-oo! Such a thing I'd never do. I gave for you a wisp of hay, And did not take your nest away. Not I, said the cow, moo-oo! Such a thing I'd never do.
Not I, said the dog, bow-wow! I wouldn't be so mean as that, now, I gave hairs the nest to make, But the nest I did not take. Not I, said the dog, bow-wow! I wouldn't be so mean as that, now.
Not I, said the sheep, Oh no! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so! I gave the wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine. Baa! baa! said the sheep; Oh no, I wouldn't treat a poor bird so.
I would not rob a bird, Said little Mary Green; I think I never heard Of any thing so mean. 'Tis very cruel, too, Said little Alice Neal; I wonder if she knew How sad the bird would feel?
A little boy hung down his head, And went and hid behind the bed, For he stole that pretty nest From poor little yellow-breast; And he felt so full of shame He didn't like to tell his name.