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 | Miscellanies (1785) |  |
Oh hark, my soul, to yonder Stockdove's note,
Sweet as the woe from Philomela's throat;
Soft let me steal along the copse to hear
The mournful murmur break upon my ear;
Ah, gentle bird! indulge thy tender pains,
While the Muse greets thee with congenial strains,
Nor quit thy sombrous seat, nor, needless fly
The still, small breathings of a social sigh:
That ruffled plumage, that disorder'd wing,
More soothing now than softest blooms of spring,
And that deep sob, to every sense more dear
Than all the music of the vocal year.
Sweet as the woe from Philomela's throat;
Soft let me steal along the copse to hear
The mournful murmur break upon my ear;
45
While the Muse greets thee with congenial strains,
Nor quit thy sombrous seat, nor, needless fly
The still, small breathings of a social sigh:
That ruffled plumage, that disorder'd wing,
More soothing now than softest blooms of spring,
And that deep sob, to every sense more dear
Than all the music of the vocal year.
| Miscellanies (1785) | |