But in Man's dwellings he became a thing[gy]

Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome,

Drooped as a wild-born falcon with clipt wing,

To whom the boundless air alone were home:

Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,

As eagerly the barred-up bird will beat

His breast and beak against his wiry dome

Till the blood tinge his plumage—so the heat

Of his impeded Soul would through his bosom eat.