27.05.2007, 12:43
On the departure of the nightingale
Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu!
Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year!
Ah! ‘t will be long ere thou shalt sing anew,
And pour thy music on “the night’s dull ear.”
Whether on Spring thy wandering flights await,
Or whether silent in our groves you dwell,
The pensive muse shall own you for her mate,
And still protect the sond she loves so well.
With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall glide
Through the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest;
And shepherd girls from eyes profane shall hide
The gentle bird that sings of pity best:
For still thy voice shall soft affections move,
And still be dear to sorrow and to love.
Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu!
Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year!
Ah! ‘t will be long ere thou shalt sing anew,
And pour thy music on “the night’s dull ear.”
Whether on Spring thy wandering flights await,
Or whether silent in our groves you dwell,
The pensive muse shall own you for her mate,
And still protect the sond she loves so well.
With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall glide
Through the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest;
And shepherd girls from eyes profane shall hide
The gentle bird that sings of pity best:
For still thy voice shall soft affections move,
And still be dear to sorrow and to love.