 | A Day in the Woods |  |
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TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
By heaven, sweet bird! thine is a lovely song,
And well accordeth with these moonlight hours;
The green old trees thou warblest now among
Seem listening silent as the folded flowers;
A mute lipped audience all, who bow profound,
And kiss the whispering wind, that bears such gentle sound.
And well accordeth with these moonlight hours;
The green old trees thou warblest now among
Seem listening silent as the folded flowers;
A mute lipped audience all, who bow profound,
And kiss the whispering wind, that bears such gentle sound.
What countless years, grey on the scroll of time,
Hath thy rich music charmed the Dædel earth;
When Eden's rosy vales were free from crime,
And long before the dark-browed Cain had birth,
Thy song was heard,—bringing to Eve repose,
When her long sun-beam locks drooped o'er the thornless rose.
Hath thy rich music charmed the Dædel earth;
When Eden's rosy vales were free from crime,
And long before the dark-browed Cain had birth,
Thy song was heard,—bringing to Eve repose,
When her long sun-beam locks drooped o'er the thornless rose.
And angel forms that trod th' enamelled green,
Have often halted by the tiger's lair,
Harkening to thee; or doubtless might be seen
By some lone dell, or glade that opened fair:
Or bird-like pausing o'er the palm-tree high,
Ere their expanded wings swept through the silent sky.
Have often halted by the tiger's lair,
Harkening to thee; or doubtless might be seen
By some lone dell, or glade that opened fair:
Or bird-like pausing o'er the palm-tree high,
Ere their expanded wings swept through the silent sky.
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Now all is still: the river's distant roll,
Low murmuring onward makes a wailing moan;
The silvery-footed dew hath downward stole,
And decked the bramble like an eastern throne:
The moon-beams sleep among the dreamy trees,
Like halcyons' pillowed on the wide and waveless seas.
Low murmuring onward makes a wailing moan;
The silvery-footed dew hath downward stole,
And decked the bramble like an eastern throne:
The moon-beams sleep among the dreamy trees,
Like halcyons' pillowed on the wide and waveless seas.
That thou wert once a woman I believe,
Or such deep music never had been thine;
Poor bird! thou doubtless hadst much cause to grieve,
And vowed a vow at melody's sweet shrine,
Before the echoing altar, that all night
Harmonious thou wouldst watch, and warble back the light.
Or such deep music never had been thine;
Poor bird! thou doubtless hadst much cause to grieve,
And vowed a vow at melody's sweet shrine,
Before the echoing altar, that all night
Harmonious thou wouldst watch, and warble back the light.
The moon, the stars, darkness, the oldest gloom,
Are all familiar with thy witching lay;
The brook, the trees, the bud, the opening bloom,
The ringing wood, the first faint streak of day,
Have paused to hear thee; e'en the thunder grim,
Hath hovered on its cloud till thou didst close thine hymn.
Are all familiar with thy witching lay;
The brook, the trees, the bud, the opening bloom,
The ringing wood, the first faint streak of day,
Have paused to hear thee; e'en the thunder grim,
Hath hovered on its cloud till thou didst close thine hymn.
And I have heard thee, when my heart was sad,
And strangely thy soft notes did suit my woe;
Rising or falling, sorrowful or glad,
Just as the feeling seemed to come or go;
In darkness, in old forests, wild and lone,
I oft have listened to thee till the break of dawn.
And strangely thy soft notes did suit my woe;
Rising or falling, sorrowful or glad,
Just as the feeling seemed to come or go;
In darkness, in old forests, wild and lone,
I oft have listened to thee till the break of dawn.
| A Day in the Woods | |