 | Carol and Cadence |  |
THE NIGHTINGALE.
I hear thee, nightingale;
But thou and I one tale
Tell not, though like they seem as day and morrow;
Thou sing'st of love turned hate
And I for love I rate
Nought that to anything more bitter turns than sorrow.
But thou and I one tale
Tell not, though like they seem as day and morrow;
Thou sing'st of love turned hate
And I for love I rate
Nought that to anything more bitter turns than sorrow.
49
Ah, nightingale, ma mie,
'Tis little wise of thee,
After five thousand years, to chew the cud of passion:
There's nothing upon earth,
Believe me, that is worth
Remembering for so long and after such a fashion.
'Tis little wise of thee,
After five thousand years, to chew the cud of passion:
There's nothing upon earth,
Believe me, that is worth
Remembering for so long and after such a fashion.
Come, counsel from me take
And sigh for vengeance' sake
No more; no thing on earth is worth our rancour;
And when a love is dead,
'Tis better o'er its head
The roses of regret to sow than let it canker.
And sigh for vengeance' sake
No more; no thing on earth is worth our rancour;
And when a love is dead,
'Tis better o'er its head
The roses of regret to sow than let it canker.
| Carol and Cadence | |