Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 37

     As it fell upon a day

     In the merry month of May,

     Sitting in a pleasant shade

     Which a grove of myrtles made,

     Beasts did leap and birds did sing,

     Trees did grow and plants did spring,

     Every thing did banish moan

     Save the Nightingale alone.

     She, poor bird, as all forlorn,

     Lean'd her breast against a thorn,

     And there sung the dolefullest ditty,

     That to hear it was great pity.

     Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;

     Tereu, tereu, by and by:

     That to hear her so complain

     Scarce I could from tears refrain;

     For her griefs so lively shown

     Made me think upon mine own.

     —Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,

     None takes pity on thy pain:

     Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,

     Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee;

     King Pandion, he is dead,

     All thy friends are lapp'd in lead:

     All thy fellow birds do sing

     Careless of thy sorrowing:

     Even so, poor bird, like thee,

     None alive will pity me.