TO A GOOSE.
197
Hath saved or lost a realm, hath sign'd the bond
That made the poor man rich—reft from the prince
His confiscated wealth, and sent him forth
A powerless exile—for the prisoner bade
The sunbeam tremble through his iron bars
The last, last time—or changed the cry of war
To blessed peace.
And yet we scorn the bird
Whose cast-off feather hath done this, and more.
