 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
136
OCCASION'D By Hearing the NIGHTINGALE AT MIDNIGHT.
'Tis Midnight all; now sacred Silence reigns,
And breaths an awful Horrour o'er the Plains;
No Noise is heard, save the low-murm'ring Breeze,
Whilst Zephyr faintly sighs amongst the Trees;
The Charmers of the Grove, with Sleep oppress'd,
Their little Loves forgot, are all remov'd to Rest:
And now the prudent Nightingale essays
In trilling Notes to chaunt her Maker's Praise,
All unmolested by the feather'd Throng,
She sits and sings alone, whilst Heav'n approves the Song:
Her soft-breath'd Musick, and inchanting Strains
Call out the list'ning Stars, and fill the lonely Plains.
And breaths an awful Horrour o'er the Plains;
No Noise is heard, save the low-murm'ring Breeze,
Whilst Zephyr faintly sighs amongst the Trees;
The Charmers of the Grove, with Sleep oppress'd,
Their little Loves forgot, are all remov'd to Rest:
And now the prudent Nightingale essays
In trilling Notes to chaunt her Maker's Praise,
137
She sits and sings alone, whilst Heav'n approves the Song:
Her soft-breath'd Musick, and inchanting Strains
Call out the list'ning Stars, and fill the lonely Plains.
Now, O my Soul! break forth in Songs of Praise,
And lift thy Anthems equal to her Lays:
Whilst Others, lost to Life, their Senses steep,
Dull and unthinking, in the Dews of Sleep,
Do thou, like her, thy grateful Tribute bring,
In midnight Carols chaunt the heav'nly King,
And sing th' Eternal's Praise, who gave thee first to sing.
And lift thy Anthems equal to her Lays:
Whilst Others, lost to Life, their Senses steep,
Dull and unthinking, in the Dews of Sleep,
Do thou, like her, thy grateful Tribute bring,
In midnight Carols chaunt the heav'nly King,
And sing th' Eternal's Praise, who gave thee first to sing.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |