Thou hast burst from thy prison,
Bright child of the air,
Like a spirit just risen
From its mansion of care.
Thou art joyously winging
Thy first ardent flight,
Where the gay lark is singing
Her notes of delight.
Where the sunbeams are throwing
Their glories on thine,
Till thy colours are glowing
With tints more divine.
Then tasting new pleasure
In summer’s green bowers,
Reposing at leisure
On fresh-open’d flowers;
Or, delighted to hover
Around them to see
Whose charms, airy rover,
Bloom sweetest for thee;
And fondly exhaling
Their fragrance till day
From thy bright eye is failing
And fading away;
Then seeking some blossom
Which looks to the west,
Thou dost find in its bosom
Sweet shelter and rest;
And there dost betake thee
Till darkness is o’er,
And the sunbeams awake thee
To pleasure once more.