I Was Interrupted In The Heyday Of This Soliloquy, With A Voice
Which I Took To Be Of A Child, Which Complained "It Could Not Get
Out." - I Look'd Up And Down The Passage, And Seeing Neither Man,
Woman, Nor Child, I Went Out Without Farther Attention.
In my return back through the passage, I heard the same words
repeated twice over; and, looking up, I saw it was a starling hung
in a little cage.
- "I can't get out, - I can't get out," said the
starling.
I stood looking at the bird: and to every person who came through
the passage it ran fluttering to the side towards which they
approach'd it, with the same lamentation of its captivity. "I
can't get out," said the starling. - God help thee! said I, but I'll
let thee out, cost what it will; so I turned about the cage to get
to the door: it was twisted and double twisted so fast with wire,
there was no getting it open without pulling the cage to pieces. - I
took both hands to it.
The bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance,
and thrusting his head through the trellis pressed his breast
against it as if impatient. - I fear, poor creature! said I, I
cannot set thee at liberty. - "No," said the starling, - "I can't
get out - I can't get out," said the starling.
I vow I never had my affections more tenderly awakened; nor do I
remember an incident in my life, where the dissipated spirits, to
which my reason had been a bubble, were so suddenly call'd home.
Mechanical as the notes were, yet so true in tune to nature were
they chanted, that in one moment they overthrew all my systematic
reasonings upon the Bastile; and I heavily walked upstairs,
unsaying every word I had said in going down them.
Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, Slavery! said I, - still thou
art a bitter draught! and though thousands in all ages have been
made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. -
'Tis thou, thrice sweet and gracious goddess, addressing myself to
Liberty, whom all in public or in private worship, whose taste is
grateful, and ever will be so, till Nature herself shall change. -
No TINT of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn
thy sceptre into iron: - with thee to smile upon him as he eats his
crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou
art exiled! - Gracious Heaven! cried I, kneeling down upon the last
step but one in my ascent, grant me but health, thou great Bestower
of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion, - and
shower down thy mitres, if it seems good unto thy divine
providence, upon those heads which are aching for them!
THE CAPTIVE. PARIS.
The bird in his cage pursued me into my room; I sat down close to
my table, and leaning my head upon my hand, I began to figure to
myself the miseries of confinement.
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