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VOICE OF THE NIGHTINGALE.
Voice of the nightingale,
Heard in the twilight vale,
Waking the silence to music and love;
Sweet is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now,
Worthy the spirits which list thee above.
Heard in the twilight vale,
Waking the silence to music and love;
Sweet is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now,
Worthy the spirits which list thee above.
Once, in complaining tone,
Notes that were Sorrow's own
Gush'd from thy breast as if thrill'd with some wrong;
Then, as if Hope sprang high,
Up to the choral sky
Swept thy full heart on the wings of thy song.
Notes that were Sorrow's own
Gush'd from thy breast as if thrill'd with some wrong;
Then, as if Hope sprang high,
Up to the choral sky
Swept thy full heart on the wings of thy song.
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Hid in thy hermit-tree,
Musing in melody,
Breath'st thou that strain to some home of the past?
Whence thy sweet nestlings fled,
Those thy fond care had fed:
Gav'st thou them wings but to leave thee at last?
Musing in melody,
Breath'st thou that strain to some home of the past?
Whence thy sweet nestlings fled,
Those thy fond care had fed:
Gav'st thou them wings but to leave thee at last?
Thus 'tis in life, sweet bird,
They whom our hearts preferr'd—
They whom we cherish'd and hoped to call ours—
Left us for others then:
Who would be mothers, then,
When o'er affection such destiny lours!
They whom our hearts preferr'd—
They whom we cherish'd and hoped to call ours—
Left us for others then:
Who would be mothers, then,
When o'er affection such destiny lours!
Yet in thy lonely lot
Still dost thou sorrow not
Vainly as those who far less should repine;
Oh, in his solitude,
Would that man's gratitude
Soar'd to his Maker in vespers like thine!
Still dost thou sorrow not
Vainly as those who far less should repine;
Oh, in his solitude,
Would that man's gratitude
Soar'd to his Maker in vespers like thine!
Voice of the nightingale,
Heard in the twilight vale,
Filling with sweetness thy hermitage lone,
Blest is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now;
Would that man's gratitude equalled thine own!
Heard in the twilight vale,
Filling with sweetness thy hermitage lone,
Blest is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now;
Would that man's gratitude equalled thine own!
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