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?