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Title: The Feather'd Captive
Author: Bill o'th' Hoylus End [
More Titles by Bill o'th' Hoylus End]
My little dapple-winged fellow,
What ruffian's hand has made thee wellow?
I heard while down in yonder hollow,
Thy troubled breast;
But I'll return my little fellow,
Back to its nest.
Some ruffian's hand has set a snickle,
An' left thee in a bonny pickle;
Whoe'er he be, I hope owd Nick will
Rise his arm,
An' mak his heead an' ear-hoil tickle
Wi' summat warm.
How glad am I that fate while roaming,
Where milk-white hawthorn's blossom's blooming,
Has sent my footsteps ere the gloaming
Into this dell,
To stop some murdering hand fra dooming
Thy bonny sel'.
For thou wur doomed my bird, for ever,
Fra all thy feather'd mates to sever;
Were I not near thee to deliver
Wi' my awn hand;
Nor ever more thou'd skim the river,
Or fallow'd land.
Thy feather'd friends, if thou has any;
Tho' friends I fear there isn't many;
But yet the dam for her, wi' Johnny,
Will fret to-day,
And think her watter-wagtail bonny
Has flown away.
Be not afraid, for not a feather
Fra off thy wing shall touch the heather,
For I will give thee altogether
Sweet liberty!
And glad am I that I came hither,
To set thee free.
Now wing thy flight my little rover,
Thy curs'd captivity is over,
And if thou crosses t'Straits of Dover
To warmer spheres,
I hope that thou may live in clover,
For years and years.
Perhaps, like thee--for fortune's fickle--
I may, myself, be caught i' t'snickle;
And some kind hand that sees my pickle--
Through saving thee--
May snatch me too fra death's grim shackle,
And set me free.
[The end]
Bill o'th' Hoylus End's poem: Feather'd Captive
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