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Mary Darby Robinson - Ode to the Nightingale
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SWEET BIRD OF SORROW! ­why complain 
      In such soft melody of Song, 
    That ECHO, am`rous of thy Strain, 
      The ling`ring cadence doth prolong? 
    Ah! tell me, tell me, why, 
    Thy dulcet Notes ascend the sky. 
    Or on the filmy vapours glide 
    Along the misty moutain`s side? 
    And wherefore dost Thou love to dwell, 
    In the dark wood and moss-grown cell, 
    Beside the willow-margin`d stream­
    Why dost Thou court wan Cynthia`s beam? 
    Sweet Songstress­if thy wayward fate
    Hath robb`d Thee of thy bosom`s mate, 
    Oh, think not thy heart-piercing moan 
      Evap`rates on the breezy air, 
      Or that the plaintive Song of Care 
    Steals from THY Widow`d Breast alone. 
    Oft have I heard thy mournful Tale, 
    On the high Cliff, that o`er the Vale 
    Hangs its dark brow, whose awful shade
    Spreads a deep gloom along the glade: 
    Led by its sound, I`ve wander`d far, 
    Till crimson evening`s flaming Star
    On Heav`n`s vast dome refulgent hung, 
    And round ethereal vapours flung; 
    And oft I`ve sought th`HYGEIAN MAID, 
    In rosy dimply smiles array`d, 
    Till forc`d with every HOPE to part, 
    Resistless Pain subdued my Heart. 

    Oh then, far o`er the restless deep 
      Forlorn my poignant pangs I bore, 
    Alone in foreign realms to weep, 
      Where ENVY`s voice could taunt no more. 
    I hop`d, by mingling with the gay, 
    To snatch the veil of Grief away; 
    To break Affliction`s pond`rous chain; 
    VAIN was the Hope­in vain I sought
    The placid hour of careless thought, 
    Where Fashion wing`d her light career, 
      And sportive Pleasure danc`d along, 
      Oft have I shunn`d the blithsome throng, 
    To hide th`involuntary tear, 
        For e`en where rapt`rous transports glow, 
    From the full Heart the conscious tear will flow, 
    When to my downy couch remov`d, 
      FANCY recall`d my wearied mind
      To scenes of FRIENDSHIP left behind, 
    Scenes still regretted, still belov`d! 
    Ah, then I felt the pangs of Grief, 
    Grasp my warm Heart, and mock relief; 
    My burning lids Sleep`s balm defied, 
And on my fev`rish lip imperfect murmurs died. 

    Restless and sad­I sought once more
    A calm retreat on BRITAIN`s shore; 
    Deceitful HOPE, e`en there I found
      That soothing FRIENDSHIP`s specious name
    Was but a short-liv`d empty sound, 
      And LOVE a false delusive flame. 

    Then come, Sweet BIRD, and with thy strain, 
    Steal from my breast the thorn of pain; 
    Blest solace of my lonely hours, 
    In craggy caves and silent bow`rs,
    When HAPPY Mortals seek repose, 
    By Night`s pale lamp we`ll chaunt our woes, 
    And, as her chilling tears diffuse
    O`er the white thorn their silv`ry dews, 
    I`ll with the lucid boughts entwine
      A weeping Wreath, which round my Head
    Shall by the waning Cresent shine, 
      And light us to our leafy bed,­
    But ah! nor leafy beds nor bow`rs
    Fring`d with soft MAY`s enamell`d flow`rs, 
    Nor pearly leaves, nor Cynthia`s beams, 
    Nor smiling Pleasure`s shad`wy dreams, 
    Sweet BIRD, not e`en THY melting Strains
Can calm the Heart, where TYRANT SORROW REIGNS.
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