The Nightingale

EN twilight's grey and pensive

Brings the low breeze, and shuts the flower,

And bids the solitary star Shine in pale beauty from afar;

When gathering shades the landscape veil,

And peasants seek their village-dale,

And mists from river-wave arise,

And dew in every blossom lies;

When evening's primrose opes, to shed Soft fragrance round her grassy bed;

When glow-worms in the wood-walk

Their lamp, to cheer the traveller's sight;

At that calm hour, so still, so pale,

Awakes the lonely Nightingale;

And from a hermitage of shade Fills with her voice the forest-glade.

And sweeter far that melting voice,

Than all which through the day rejoice;

And still shall bard and wanderer

The twilight music of the grove.

Father in Heaven! oh! thus when day With all its cares hath passed away,

And silent hours waft peace on earth,

And hush the louder strains of mirth;

Thus may sweet songs of praise and

To Thee my spirit's offering bear;

Yon star, my signal, set on high,

For vesper-hymns of piety.

So may thy mercy and thy

Protect me through the midnight hour;

And balmy sleep and visions

Smile on thy servant's bed of rest.