Classic Poem

Pretty, little feather'd fellow,
Why so far from land dost rove?
What misfortune brought thee hither,
From the gay embowering grove?

Let thy throbbing breast be still,
And secure from danger rest thee;
No one here shall use thee ill,
Here no truant boys molest thee.

Barley corns, and crumbs of bread,
Crystal water too shall chear thee;
On soft sails recline thy head;
Sleep, and fear no mischief near thee.

So when kindly winds shall speed us,
To the land we wish to see;
Then, sweet captive, thou shalt leave us,
Then among thy groves be free.

There seek thy loving mate, and meet her,
Fondly take her to thy breast;
With the luckless story greet her,
How thou cam'st to break her rest.

Tell her how this absence griev'd thee,
Of love unlock thy little store;
Soothe her with caresses sweetly,
And never quit her bosom more.