Now advancing o'er the plain,
Ev'ning's dusky shades appear,
And the cuckoo's voice again
Gently steals upon mine ear;
While retiring from the view,
Thus she bids the day adieu:
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Thus she bids the day adieu.
49. The Nightingale.
Sweet bird, enchantress of the earth,
Born in the world's young prime,
The only bird of Eden birth
Left to this latter time.
Why on the joyous sunny day
Thy golden notes expend?
To lonely night belongs thy lay;
Save thee she has no friend.
The day, it has a thousand songs,
Of leaflet, bird, and bee;
The merry bell to the day belongs,—
The night, it has but thee.
Then for sad solitary night
Reserve thy downy lay;
And she to thee, for this delight,
Full many thanks will pay.
List'ning all still, o'er vale and hill,
While from some copsewood tree
Thou with charm'd trill the air dost fill,
Blending all things in thee.
