Poor melancholy bird—-that all night long Tell`st to the Moon, thy tale of tender woe; From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow, And whence this mournful melody of song? Thy poet`s musing fancy would translate What mean the sounds that swell thy little breast, When still at dewy eve thou leav`st thy nest, Thus to the listening night to sing thy fate! Pale Sorrow`s victims wert thou once among, Tho` now releas`d in woodlands wild to rove? Say—-hast thou felt from friends some cruel wrong, Or diedst thou—-martyr of disastrous love? Ah! songstress sad! that such my lot might be, To sigh and sing at liberty—-like thee!SourceThe script ran 0.002 seconds.
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