Classic Poem

The sky-lark hath perceived his prison-door
 Unclosed; for liberty the captive tries:
Puss eagerly hath watched him from the floor,
 And in her grasp he flutters, pants, and dies.

2.

Lucy's own Puss, and Lucy's own dear Bird,
 Her foster'd favorites both for many a day,
That which the tender-hearted girl preferr'd,
 She in her fondness knew not, sooth to say.

3.

For if the sky-lark's pipe were shrill and strong,
 And its rich tones the thrilling ear might please
Yet Pussybel could breathe a fire-side song
 As winning, when she lay on Lucy's knees.

4.

Both knew her voice, and each alike would seek
 Her eye, her smile, her fondling touch to gain;
How faintly, then, may words her sorrow speak;
 When by the one she sees the other slain.

5.

The flowers fall scatter'd from her lifted hand;
 A cry of grief she utters in affright;
And self-condemn'd for negligence she stands
 Aghast and helpless at the cruel sight.

6.

Come, Lucy, let me dry those tearful eyes;
 Take thou, dear child, a lesson not unholy,
From one whom nature taught to moralize,
 Both in his mirth and in his melancholy.

7.

I will not warn thee not to set thy heart
 Too fondly upon perishable things;
In vain the earnest preacher spends his art
 Upon that theme; in vain the poet sings.

8.

It is our nature's strong necessity,
 And this the soul's unerring instincts tell
Therefore I say, let us love worthily,
 Dear child, and then we cannot love too well.

9.

Better it is all losses to deplore,
 Which dutiful affection can sustain,
Than that the heart should, in its inmost core,
 Harden without it, and have lived in vain.

10.

This love which thou hast lavish'd, and the woe
 Which makes thy lip now quiver with distress,
Are but a vent, an innocent overflow,
 From the deep springs of female tenderness.

11.

And something I would teach thee from the grief
 That thus hath fill'd those gentle eyes with tears,
The which may be thy sober, sure relief,
 When sorrow visits thee in after years.

12.

I ask not whither is the spirit flown
 That lit the eye which there in death is seal'd;
Our Father hath not made that mystery known;
 Needless the knowledge, therefore not reveal'd.

13.

But didst thou know, in sure and sacred truth,
 It had a place assign'd in yonder skies,
There, through an endless life of joyous youth,
 To warble in the bowers of Paradise,—

14.

Lucy, if then the power to thee were given
 In that cold form its life to reengage,
Wouldst thou call back the warbler from its Heaven
 To be again the tenant of a cage?

15.

Only that thou mightst cherish it again,
 Wouldst thou the object of thy love recall
To mortal life, and chance, and change, and pain,
 And death, which must be suffered once by all?

16.

Oh, no, thou say'st: oh, surely not, not so!
 I read the answer which those looks express;
For pure and true affection, well I know,
 Leaves in the heart no room for selfishness.

17.

Such love of all our virtues is the gem;
 We bring with us the immortal seed at birth:
Of heaven it is, and heavenly; woe to them
 Who make it wholly earthly and of earth!

18.

What we love perfectly, for its own sake
 We love, and not our own, being ready thus
Whate'er self-sacrifice is ask'd, to make;
 That which is best for it, is best for us.

19.

O Lucy! treasure up that pious thought!
 It hath a balm for sorrow's deadliest darts;
And with true comfort thou wilt find it fraught,
 If grief should reach thee in thy heart of hearts.