Classic Poem

A noble swan was borne through field and lane
On to the Squire's, close grappled and convey'd
By walking post; his haughty neck obey'd
The strenuous grasp: he strain'd his wings in vain.
He could not blush to show his rage and shame:
He had no turkey's trick to pouch his spleen,
And give it colour, though he urged his claim
To freedom with a proud and swan-like mien.
But nilly willy he was haul'd away,
And launch'd upon the lake, his future home;
Where day by day he sees the postman come,
And linger near him with a fond delay,
While he moves proudly forward to receive
Such dole as royal mails can pause to give.