Page:The collected poems, lyrical and narrative, of A. Mary F. Robinson.djvu/69

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An Address to the Nightingale

(from aristophanes)

O dear one, with tawny wings,
Dearest of singing things,
Whose hymns my company have been,
Thou art come, thou art found, thou art seen!
Bid, with the music of thy voice.
Sweet-sounding rustler, the heart rejoice;
Ah! louder, louder, louder sing.
Flute out the language of the spring;
Nay, let those low notes rest.
Oh! my nightingale, nightingale, carol thine anapaest!

Come, my companion, cease from thy slumbers.
Pour out thy holy and musical numbers.
Sing and lament with a sweet throat divine,
Itys of many tears, thy son and mine!
Cry out, and quiver, and shake, dusky throat,
Throb with the thrill of thy liquidest note.
Through the wide country and mournfully through
Leafy-haired branches and boughs of the yew.
Widens and rises the echo until
Even the throne-room of God it shall fill.

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