In Bonds

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In Bonds

Of the poor bird that cannot fly

Kindly you think and mournfully;

For prisoners and for exiles all

You let the tears of pity fall;

And very true the grief should be

That mourns the bondage of the free.

The soul⁠—she has a fatherland;

Binds her not many a tyrant’s hand?

And the winged spirit has a home,

But can she always homeward come?

Poor souls, with all their wounds and foes,

Will you not also pity those?