The Nightingale

For Elusino lost, renew the strain, Pour the sad note upon the ev'ning gale; And as the length'ning shades usurp the plain, The silent moon shall listen to the tale.

Sore was the time, ill-fated was the hour, The thicket shook with many an omen dire! When from the topmost twig of yonder bower, I saw my husband flutter and expire.

'Twas when the peasant sought his twilight rest, Beneath the brow of yonder breezy hill; Twas when the plumy nation sought the nest, And all, but such as lov'd the night, was still;

That fondly sitting with a lover's pride, (My tender custom while the sun withdrew) Dear Elusino, sudden left my side, And the curs'd form of man appear'd in view.

For sport, the tube he levell'd at our head, And, curious to behold more near my race, Low in the copse the artful robber laid, Explor'd our haunt, and thunder'd at the place.

Ingrateful wretch! he was our shepherd's son, The harmless, good old tenant of yon cot! That Shepherd would not such a deed have done; For love of him first fix'd us to this spot.

Oft as at eve his homeward steps he bent, When the laborious task of day was o'er, Our mellow'd warblings sooth'd him as he went, 'Till the charm'd hind forgot that he was poor.

Ah! could not this thy gratitude inspire? Could not our gentle visitations please? Could not the blameless lessons of thy fire, Thy barb'rous hand restrain from crimes like these?

O cruel boy! thou tyrant of the plain! Could'st thou but see the sorrows thou hast made, O didst thou know the virtues thou hast slain, And view the gloomy horrors of the shade:

Couldst thou behold my infant younglings lie, In the moss'd cradle by our bills prepar'd, Babes as they were, unable yet to fly. Their wings defenceless, and their bosoms bar'd:

Surely the mighty malice of thy kind, Thy power to wrong, and readiness to kill, In common pity to the parent's mind. Would cease the new-made father's blood to spill.

Haply, the time may come, when heav'n shall give To thee the troubles thou hast heap'd on me; Haply, ere well thy babes begin to live, Death shall present the dart of misery.

Just as the tender hope begins to rise, As the fond mother hugs her darling boy; As the big rapture trembles in the eyes, And the breast throbs with all the parent's joy;

Then may some midnight robber, skill'd in guile, Resolv'd on plunder, and on deeds of death, Thy fairy prospects, tender transports spoil, And to the knife resign thy children's breath.

In that sad moment shall thy savage heart Feel the sad anguish, desperate, and wild, Conscience forlorn shall doubly point the smart; And justice whisper,—this is child for child.

'Reav'd of their fire, my babes, alas! must sigh; For grief obstructs the anxious widow's care; This wasted form, this ever-weeping eye, And the deep note of destitute despair,

All load this bosom with affright so sore, Scarce can I cater for the daily food! Where'er I search, my husband search'd before, And soon my nest will hold an orphan brood!

For Elusino, lost, then pour the strain, Waft the sad note on every ev'ning gale; And as the length'ning shades usurp the plain, The silent moon shall listen to the tale.