And joyance! 'Tis the merry Nightingale And murmurs musical and swift jug jug And one low piping sound more sweet than all-- Stirring the air with such an harmony, That should you close your eyes, you might almost Forget it was not day! On moonlight bushes, Whose dewy leafits are but half disclos'd, You may perchance behold them on the twigs, Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full, Glistning, while many a glow-worm in the shade Lights up her love-torch. A most gentle maid Who dwelleth in her hospitable home Hard by the Castle, and at latest eve, (Even like a Lady vow'd and dedicate To something more than nature in the grove) Glides thro' the pathways; she knows all their notes, That gentle Maid! and oft, a moment's space, With one sensation, and those wakeful Birds As if one quick and sudden Gale had swept On blosmy twig still swinging from the breeze, Farewell, O Warbler! till to-morrow eve, And you, my friends! farewell, a short farewell! We have been loitering long and pleasantly, And now for our dear homes.-That strain again ! Full fain it would delay me!--My dear Babe, Who, capable of no articulate sound, Mars all things with his imitative lisp, How he would place his hand beside his ear, And bid us listen! And I deem it wise To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well In most distressful mood (some inward pain And he beholds the moon, and hush'd at once Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up |