Why dost thou struggle thus?
Does every balmy breeze
That softly fanneth us,
Tell of the waving trees?

Do yonder happy birds
That sing for thee and me,
For chorus have the words
So precious--"I am free?"

Go then, as free as they,
As light and happy roam
With thy companions gay,
Safe in thy forest home.

There--thou art gone; farewell!
My heart leaps up with thine;
And I rejoice to tell
Thou art no longer mine.

I could not breathe the air
Where pining captives dwell;
My freedom thou wilt share,
With joy then, fare-thee-well.




THE OLD MAN.