James Thomson (Äæåéìñ Òîìñîí)

To The Nightingale

O nightingale, best poet of the grove,
That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee,
Blessed in the full possession of thy love:
O lend that strain, sweet Nighingale, to me!

'Tis mine, alas! to mourn a wretched fate:
I love a maid who all my bosom charms,
Yet lose my days without this lovely mate;
Inhuman fortune keeps her from my arms.

You happy birds! by nature's simple laws
Lead your soft lives, sustained by nature's fare;
You dwell wherever roving fancy draws,
And love and song is all your pleasing care:

But we, vain slaves of interest and of pride,
Dare not be blessed, lest envious tongues should blame;
And hence, in vain I languish for my bride!
O mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless flame. 

1. A Hymn
2. Sheep-Sheering
3. A Poem Sacred to the Memory of Sir Isaac Newton
4. The Four Seasons. Autumn
5. The Four Seasons. Spring

Samuel Coleridge (Ñýìþýë Êîëüðèäæ) To The Nightingale ("Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel!")

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