Charlotte Turner Smith (Шарлотта Смит)

Sonnet 3. To a Nightingale

Poor melancholy bird—-that all night long
Tell'st to the Moon, thy tale of tender woe;
From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow,
And whence this mournful melody of song?

Thy poet's musing fancy would translate
What mean the sounds that swell thy little breast,
When still at dewy eve thou leav'st thy nest,
Thus to the listening night to sing thy fate!

Pale Sorrow's victims wert thou once among,
Tho' now releas'd in woodlands wild to rove?
Say—-hast thou felt from friends some cruel wrong,
Or diedst thou—-martyr of disastrous love?
Ah! songstress sad! that such my lot might be,
To sigh and sing at liberty—-like thee!

1. Sonnet 16. From Petrarch (YE vales and woods! fair scenes of happier hours!)
2. Sonnet 51. Supposed to have been written in the Hebrides
3. Sonnet 33. To the Naiad of the Arun
4. Sonnet 13. From Petrarch (OH! place me where the burning moon)
5. Sonnet 70. On Being Cautioned Against Walking on an Headland Overlooking the Sea Because It Was Frequented by a Lunatic

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