ODE TO A SINGING BIRD. Myles Cooper Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 141-144. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ODE TO A SINGING BIRD . BY MR. RICHARDSON , OF QUEEN'S COLLEGE , OXON . O Thou that glad'st my lonesome hours With many a wildly warbled song , When Melancholy round me low'rs , And drives her sullen storms along ; When fell Adversity prepares To lead her delegated train , Pale Sickness , Want , Remorse , and Pain , With all her host of carking cares — The fiends ordain'd to tame the human soul , And give the humbled heart to Sympathy's controul . Sweet soother of my misery , say , Why dost thou clap thy joyous wing ? Why dost thou pour that artless lay ? How canst thou , little prisoner , sing ? Hast thou not cause to grieve That man , unpitying man ! has rent From thee the boon which Nature meant Thou should'st , as well as he , receive ? The power to woo thy partner in the grove , To build where instinct points ; where chance directs , to rove . Perchance , unconscious of thy fate , And to the woes of bondage blind , Thou never long'st to join thy mate , Nor wishest to be unconfin'd ; Then how relentless he , And fit for every foul offence , Who could bereave such innocence Of life's best blessing , Liberty ! Who lur'd thee , guileful , to his treacherous snare , To live a tuneful slave , and dissipate his care . But why for thee this fond complaint ? Above thy master thou art blest : Art thou not free ? — Yes ; calm Content , With olive sceptre , sways thy breast : Then deign with me to live ; The falcon with insatiate maw , With hooked bill and griping claw , Shall ne'er thy destiny contrive : And every tabby foe shall mew in vain , While pensively demure she hears thy melting strain . Nor shall the fiend , fell Famine , dare Thy wiry tenement assail ; These , these shall be my constant care , The limpid fount , and temperate meal : And when the blooming Spring In checquer'd livery robes the fields The fairest flowrets Nature yields To thee officious will I bring ; A garland rich thy dwelling shall entwine , And Flora's freshest gifts , thrice happy bird , be thine . From drear Oblivion's gloomy cave The powerful Muse shall wrest thy name , And bid thee live beyond the grave — This meed she knows thy merits claim ; She knows thy liberal heart Is ever ready to dispense The tide of bland Benevolence , And Melody's soft aid impart ; Is ready still to prompt the magic-lay , Which hushes all our griefs , and charms our pains away . Erewhile when brooding o'er my soul Frown'd the black daemons of Despair , Did not thy voice that power controul , And oft suppress the rising tear ? If Fortune should be kind , If e'er with affluence I'm blest , I'll often seek some friend distrest , And when the weeping wretch I find , Then , tuneful moralist , I'll copy thee , And solace all his woes with social sympathy .