TO A RABBIT.

Go to the green wood, go

I oft shall sigh for thee,—

And yet rejoice to know,

That thou art sporting free.

Go to the meadows green,

Where summer holds her reign;

When winter spoils the scene

Wilt thou return again?

A shelter thou wouldst find

From every howling storm;

The heart thou leav'st behind

Would still be true and warm.

Why dost thou struggle thus?

Does every balmy breeze

That softly fanneth us,

Tell of the waving trees?

Do yonder happy birds

That sing for thee and me,

For chorus have the words

So precious — “I am free?”

Go then, as free as they,

As light and happy roam

With thy companions gay,

Safe in thy forest home.

There — thou art gone; farewell!

My heart leaps up with thine;

And I rejoice to tell

Thou art no longer mine.

I could not breathe the air

Where pining captives dwell;

My freedom thou wilt share,

With joy then, fare-thee-well.