Sunday, June 10, 2018

Scottish Poetry X

To the Nightingale
by Robert Allan


Sweetest minstrel, who at even,
Sheltered in thy leafy bower,
As the zephyrs sleep around thee,
Charm'st the balmy tranquil hour;
But when morning's beam is breaking,
And its lights around thee play,
Songster, then I list with sorrow
Thy last warblings die away.

From thy shade of fragrant blossoms
On night's ear thou pour'st thy strain,
While fond lovers, loth to leave thee,
Sigh to hear those strains again,_
And when autumn's blast, despoiling
All the sweets that deck thy spray,
Songster, then I list with sorrow
Thy last warblings die away.

Cease not yet thy song, sweet warbler,
Northy rosy bower forsake;
Lull the night to balmy slumbers,
Till the morning herald wake.
Slowly from the wild departing,
Slowly wending home my way,
Songster, then I list with sorrow.
Thy last warblings die away.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Please understand that this weblog runs on a third-party comment system, not on Blogger's comment system. If you have come by way of a mobile device and can see this message, you may have landed on the Blogger comment page, or the third party commenting system has not yet completely loaded; your comments will only be shown on this page and not on the page most people will see, and it is much more likely that your comment will be missed.