Borne on the warm wing of the western gale, How tremulously low is heard to float Thro' the green budding thorns that fringe the vale, The early Nightingale's prelusive note. 'Tis Hope's instinctive power that thro' the grove Tells how benignant Heaven revives the earth; 'Tis the soft voice of young and timid Love That calls these melting sounds of sweetness forth. With transport, once, sweet bird! I hail'd thy lay, And bade thee welcome to our shades again, To charm the wandering poet's pensive way And soothe the solitary lover's pain; But now! -- such evils in my lot combine, As shut my languid sense -- to Hope's dear voice and thine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RIDE-BY-NIGHTS by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE CALL TO THE COLORS by ARTHUR GUITERMAN THE SERGEANT'S WEDDIN' by RUDYARD KIPLING THE NEW COLOSSUS by EMMA LAZARUS WORDLY WISE (10) by MOTHER GOOSE THE TENDER HUSBAND: PROLOGUE by JOSEPH ADDISON |