TO THE NIGHTINGALE. Ann Radcliffe (née Ward) 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. Radcliffe, Ann Ward, 1764-1823. The Poems of Mrs. Ann Radcliffe. London printed by and for J. Smith, Princes Street 1816 pp. 38-40. 118p. [Radcliffe's poems only, pp. 1-95]

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).

Typography, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation have been cautiously modernized. The source of the text is given and all significant editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. 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;
TO THE NIGHTINGALE . Child of the melancholy song ! O yet that tender strain prolong ! Her lengthen'd shade when Ev'ning flings , From mountain-cliffs , and forests green , And sailing slow on silent wings , Along the glimm'ring West is seen ; I love o'er pathless hills to stray , Or trace the winding vale remote , And pause , sweet Bird ! to hear thy lay , While moon-beams on the thin clouds float ; 'Till o'er the Mountain's dewy head Pale Midnight steals to wake the dead . Far through the Heav'ns ' ætherial blue , Wafted on Spring's light airs you come , With blooms , and flow'rs , and genial dew , From climes where Summer joys to roam , O ! welcome to your long lost home ! " Child of the melancholy song ! " Who lov'st the lonely woodland-glade To mourn , unseen , the boughs among , When Twilight spreads her pensive shade , Again thy dulcet voice I hail ! O ! pour again the liquid note That dies upon the ev'ning gale ! For Fancy loves the kindred tone ; Her griefs the plaintive accents own . She loves to hear thy music float At solemn midnight's stillest hour , And think on friends for ever lost , On joys by disappointment crost , And weep anew Love's charmful pow'r ! Then Memory wakes the magic smile , Th' impassion'd voice , the melting eye , That won't the trusting heart beguile , And wakes again the hopeless sigh ! Her skill the glowing tints revive Of scenes that Time had bade decay : She bids the soften'd Passions live — The Passions urge again their sway . Yet o'er the long-regretted scene , Thy song the grace of sorrow throws ; A melancholy charm serene , More rare than all that mirth bestows . Then hail , sweet Bird ! and hail thy pensive tear ! To Taste , to Fancy , and to Virtue dear !