A hungry hawk, in quest of prey,
Wide o'er the forest wing'd his way;
Whence every bird, that haunts the glade,
Or warbles in the rural shade,
Dispers'd, in wild disorder flies
Before the tyrant of the skies.
A linnet, feebler than the rest,
With weary wings and panting breast
Sought Sylvia's window in despair,
And fluttering crav'd protection there.
Compassion touch'd the fair one's mind,
(For female hearts are always kind.)
Upward the gliding sash she threw,
And in the little stranger flew;
There, in her fragrant bosom prest,
The nymph revives her drooping guest;
Then (danger o'er, and all serene)
Restores him to his fields again.
What wondrous joy, what grateful love!
Inspir'd the wanderer of the grove!
In unexpected life elate,
When now he recollects his fate!
And sets the friendly fair in view,
Who gave him life and freedom too!
For gratitude, to courts unknown,
And unreturn'd by man alone,
Wide thro' the wing'd creation reigns,
And dwells amidst the humble plains;
In every verdant field and shade,
The just, the generous debt is paid.
Back from the Sylvan bower he hies,
To thank his dear deliverer flies;
And, at her window, chaunting stood
Her praise, with all the zeal he could.
There Lin his morning visits pays,
And there he tunes his evening lays;
There oft the noon-day hour prolongs,
And pours his little soul in songs.