ODE
TO
THE
NIGHTINGALE
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
O
Thou
,
that
to
the
moon-light
vale
Warblest
oft
thy
plaintive
tale
,
What
time
the
village
murmurs
cease
,
And
the
still
eye
is
hush'd
to
peace
,
When
now
no
busy
sound
is
heard
,
Contemplation's
favourite
bird
!
Chauntress
of
Night
,
whose
amorous
song
First
heard
the
tufted
groves
among
,
Warns
wanton
Mabba
to
begin
Her
revels
on
the
circled
green
,
Whene'er
by
meditation
led
,
I
nightly
seek
some
distant
mead
,
A
short
repose
of
cares
to
find
,
And
soothe
my
love-distracted
mind
,
O
fail
not
then
,
sweet
Philomel
,
Thy
sadly-warbled
woes
to
tell
;
In
sympathetic
numbers
join
Thy
pangs
of
luckless
love
with
mine
!
So
may
no
swain's
rude
hand
infest
Thy
tender
young
,
and
rob
thy
nest
;
Nor
ruthless
fowler's
guileful
snare
Lure
thee
to
leave
the
fields
of
air
,
No
more
to
visit
vale
or
shade
,
Some
barbarous
virgin's
captive
made
.