Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Various - Страница 54

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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 up-till a thorn,

And there sung the dolefull'st ditty

That to hear it was great pity.

Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;

Teru, teru, 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.

R. Barnefield