THE NIGHTINGALE.
Sweet bird! that through the shadows
Of the night, so sad and lone,
Warblest thy notes of gladness,
With softly thrilling tone.
’Tis when the gloom is deepest,
And all is hushed in fear,
Save that night-winds are moaning
Through the stillness dark and drear;
’Tis then thy voice is sweetest,
And seems wafted from above,
As to the sad and sorrowing
Come words of hope and love.
Thou’rt heard within the casement,
Through the weary night of pain;
And thy warble is an earnest
That the day will come again.
Methinks thou art a spirit-bird,
Sent from a holier sphere;
Such spirits do not linger
Amidst the sorrowing here.