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Thou should'st be carolling thy Maker's praise, Poor bird! now fetter'd, and here set to draw, With graceless toil of beak and added claw, The meagre food that scarce thy want allays! And this--to gratify the gloating gaze Of fools, who value Nature not a straw, But know to prize the infraction of her law An hard perversion of her creatures' ways! Thee the wild woods await, in leaves attired, Where notes of liquid utterance should engage Thy bill, that now with pain scant forage earns. - Julian C.H. Fane, Poems--Second Addition, with Additional Poems--To a Canary Bird Sing away, ay, sing away, Merry little bird Always gayest of the gay, Though a woodland roundelay You ne'er sung not heard; Though your life from youth to age Passes is a narrow cage. - Dinah Maria Mulock (used pseudonym Mrs. Craik), The Canary in his Cage Bird of the amber beak, Bird of the golden wing! Thy dower is thy carolling; Thou hast not far to seek Thy bread, nor needest wine To make thy utterance divine; Thou art canopied and clothed And unto Song bethrothed. - Edmund Clarence Stedman, The Songster (st. 2)
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