 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
475
SWEET NIGHTINGALE.
The throbbing music of that throat,
How softly doth it swell and float,
Lend me, Oh! lend me that dear note,
Sweet Nightingale!
How softly doth it swell and float,
Lend me, Oh! lend me that dear note,
Sweet Nightingale!
While thou so richly dost complain,
Surely that Heavenly, heavenly strain
Must soothe, must turn to joy thy pain,
Sweet Nightingale!
Surely that Heavenly, heavenly strain
Must soothe, must turn to joy thy pain,
Sweet Nightingale!
Oh! that it might be so with me,
But gloomy is my minstrelsie,
And bids my sufferings sharper be,
Sweet Nightingale!
But gloomy is my minstrelsie,
And bids my sufferings sharper be,
Sweet Nightingale!
476
For we but ransack Nature still
For chords that may responsive thrill
To our own bosom's aching ill,
Sweet Nightingale!
For chords that may responsive thrill
To our own bosom's aching ill,
Sweet Nightingale!
Whilst thou—the voice which Nature gave
Sufficeth thus from Grief to save,
Thou hear'st thyself—nor more dost crave,
Oh! Nightingale!
Sufficeth thus from Grief to save,
Thou hear'st thyself—nor more dost crave,
Oh! Nightingale!
Nature the eternal balm supplies,
Thou sing'st—Joy lives—and Sorrow dies—
If in thy breast the famed thorn lies—
Poor Nightingale!
Thou sing'st—Joy lives—and Sorrow dies—
If in thy breast the famed thorn lies—
Poor Nightingale!
But surely 'twas a fable all,
Thy little heart owns no dull thrall,
No shadow o'er thy life doth fall,
Sweet Nightingale!
Thy little heart owns no dull thrall,
No shadow o'er thy life doth fall,
Sweet Nightingale!
477
Ah! surely Bird, no thorn is there,
We seek an echo everywhere,
For our own sigh of human care,
Sweet Nightingale!
We seek an echo everywhere,
For our own sigh of human care,
Sweet Nightingale!
And then by chance we make our choice
Of some beloved and blessed voice—
Haply thy song but saith, Rejoice—
Oh! Nightingale!
Of some beloved and blessed voice—
Haply thy song but saith, Rejoice—
Oh! Nightingale!
| Lays of Leisure Hours | |