The poetical works of James Montgomery collected by himself |
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THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE. |
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 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE.
Nocturnal Silence reigning,
A Nightingale began
In his cold cage complaining
Of cruel-hearted Man:
His drooping pinions shiver'd,
Like wither'd moss so dry;
His heart with anguish quiver'd,
And sorrow dimm'd his eye.
A Nightingale began
In his cold cage complaining
Of cruel-hearted Man:
His drooping pinions shiver'd,
Like wither'd moss so dry;
His heart with anguish quiver'd,
And sorrow dimm'd his eye.
His grief in soothing slumbers
No balmy power could steep;
So sweetly flow'd his numbers,
The music seem'd to weep.
Unfeeling Sons of Folly!
To you the Mourner sung;
While tender melancholy
Inspired his plaintive tongue.
No balmy power could steep;
So sweetly flow'd his numbers,
The music seem'd to weep.
Unfeeling Sons of Folly!
To you the Mourner sung;
While tender melancholy
Inspired his plaintive tongue.
“Now reigns the moon in splendour
Amid the heaven serene;
A thousand stars attend her,
And glitter round their queen:
Sweet hours of inspiration!
When I, the still night long,
Was wont to pour my passion,
And breathe my soul in Song.
Amid the heaven serene;
A thousand stars attend her,
And glitter round their queen:
Sweet hours of inspiration!
When I, the still night long,
Was wont to pour my passion,
And breathe my soul in Song.
“But now, delicious season!
In vain thy charms invite;
Entomb'd in this dire prison,
I sicken at the sight.
This morn, this vernal morning,
The happiest bird was I
That hail'd the sun returning,
Or swam the liquid sky.
In vain thy charms invite;
Entomb'd in this dire prison,
I sicken at the sight.
This morn, this vernal morning,
The happiest bird was I
That hail'd the sun returning,
Or swam the liquid sky.
“In yonder breezy bowers,
Among the foliage green,
I spent my tuneful hours,
In solitude serene:
There soft Melodia's beauty
First fired my ravish'd eye;
I vow'd eternal duty:
She look'd—half kind, half shy!
Among the foliage green,
I spent my tuneful hours,
In solitude serene:
There soft Melodia's beauty
First fired my ravish'd eye;
I vow'd eternal duty:
She look'd—half kind, half shy!
“My plumes with ardour trembling
I flutter'd, sigh'd, and sung;
The fair one, still dissembling,
Refused to trust my tongue:
A thousand tricks inventing,
A thousand arts I tried;
Till the sweet nymph, relenting,
Confess'd herself my bride.
I flutter'd, sigh'd, and sung;
The fair one, still dissembling,
Refused to trust my tongue:
A thousand tricks inventing,
A thousand arts I tried;
Till the sweet nymph, relenting,
Confess'd herself my bride.
“Deep in the grove retiring,
To choose our secret seat,
We found an oak aspiring,
Beneath whose mossy feet,
Where the tall herbage swelling
Had form'd a green alcove,
We built our humble dwelling,
And hallow'd it with love.
To choose our secret seat,
We found an oak aspiring,
Beneath whose mossy feet,
Where the tall herbage swelling
Had form'd a green alcove,
We built our humble dwelling,
And hallow'd it with love.
“Sweet scene of vanish'd pleasure!
This day, this fatal day,
My little ones, my treasure,
My spouse, were stolen away!
I saw the precious plunder
All in a napkin bound;
Then, smit with human thunder,
I flutter'd on the ground!
This day, this fatal day,
My little ones, my treasure,
My spouse, were stolen away!
I saw the precious plunder
All in a napkin bound;
Then, smit with human thunder,
I flutter'd on the ground!
“O Man! beneath whose vengeance
All Nature bleeding lies!
Who charged thine impious engines
With lightning from the skies?
Ah! is thy bosom iron?
Does it thine heart enchain?
As these cold bars environ,
And captive me detain?
All Nature bleeding lies!
Who charged thine impious engines
With lightning from the skies?
Ah! is thy bosom iron?
Does it thine heart enchain?
As these cold bars environ,
And captive me detain?
“Where are my offspring tender?
Where is my widow'd mate?—
Thou Guardian Moon! defend her!
Ye Stars! avert their fate!—
O'erwhelm'd with killing anguish,
In iron cage, forlorn,
I see my poor babes languish:
I hear their mother mourn!
Where is my widow'd mate?—
Thou Guardian Moon! defend her!
Ye Stars! avert their fate!—
145
In iron cage, forlorn,
I see my poor babes languish:
I hear their mother mourn!
“O Liberty! inspire me,
And eagle-strength supply!
Thou, Love almighty! fire me!
I'll burst my prison—or die!”
He sung, and forward bounded;
He broke the yielding door!
But, with the shock confounded,
Fell lifeless on the floor!
And eagle-strength supply!
Thou, Love almighty! fire me!
I'll burst my prison—or die!”
He sung, and forward bounded;
He broke the yielding door!
But, with the shock confounded,
Fell lifeless on the floor!
Farewell, then, Philomela;
Poor martyr'd bird! adieu!
There's one, my charming fellow!
Who thinks, who feels, like you:
The bard that pens thy story,
Amidst a prison's gloom,
Sighs—not for wealth, nor glory—
But freedom, or thy tomb!
Poor martyr'd bird! adieu!
There's one, my charming fellow!
Who thinks, who feels, like you:
The bard that pens thy story,
Amidst a prison's gloom,
Sighs—not for wealth, nor glory—
But freedom, or thy tomb!
Feb. 12. 1796.
| The poetical works of James Montgomery | |