SONNET [03] III. To a Nightingale. Charlotte Smith (née Turner) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. N22357 Smith, Charlotte Turner, 1749-1806. Elegiac sonnets, and other poems. By Charlotte Smith. The first Worcester edition, from the sixth London edition, with additions. Printed at Worcester [Mass.] by Isaiah Thomas, sold by him in Worcester, and by said Thomas and Andrews in Boston 1795 p. 23. xix,[2],22-126,[2]p.,[5] leaves of plates: ill.; 15 cm. (12mo)

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

The text has been typographically modernized, but without any silent modernization of spelling, capitalization, or punctuation. The source of the text is given and all editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. Based on the electronic text originally produced by the TCP project, this text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
SONNET [ 03 ] III . To a Nightingale . POOR melancholy bird — that all night long

The idea from the 43d Sonnet of Petrarch . Secondo parte . Quel rosigniuol , che si soave piagne .

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 list'ning 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 !