The Captive Lark forgets to sing,
And idly beats, with flutt’ring wing
And open’d beak, in fruitless rage,
The narrow limits of his cage:
Yet soon tamed, and accustom’d
His flights to forego,
He cheerly sweetly warbles,
Forgetful of woe.
And thus the Youth, whose free-born soul
Is new to tyrant Love’s control,
Laments, and struggles oft in vain
To break or loose the magic chain:
Yet soon, taught what pleasure
A true Love warms,
He fondly sweetly warbles
His dear Idol’s charms.