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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455646" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Second Ode to the Nightingale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">BLEST be thy song, sweet NIGHTINGALE, <br>Lorn minstrel of the lonely vale ! <br>Where oft I've heard thy dulcet strain <br>In mournful melody complain; <br>When in the POPLAR'S trembling shade, <br>At Evening's purple hour I've stray'd, <br>While many a silken folded flow'r <br>Wept on its couch of Gossamer, <br>And many a time in pensive mood <br>Upon the upland mead I've stood, <br>To mark grey twilight's shadows glide <br>Along the green hill's velvet side; <br>To watch the perfum'd hand of morn <br>Hang pearls upon the silver thorn, <br>Till rosy day with lustrous eye <br>In saffron mantle deck'd the sky, <br>And bound the mountain's brow with fire, <br>And ting'd with gold the village spire: <br>While o'er the frosted vale below <br>The amber tints began to glow: <br>And oft I seek the daisied plain <br>To greet the rustic nymph and swain, <br>When cowslips gay their bells unfold, <br>And flaunt their leaves of glitt'ring gold, <br>While from the blushes of the rose <br>A tide of musky essence flows, <br>And o'er the odour-breathing flow'rs <br>The woodlands shed their diamond show'rs, <br>When from the scented hawthorn bud <br>The BLACKBIRD sips the lucid flood, <br>While oft the twitt'ring THRUSH essays <br>To emulate the LINNET'S lays; <br>While the poiz'd LARK her carol sings <br>And BUTTERFLIES expand their wings, <br>And BEES begin their sultry toils <br>And load their limbs with luscious spoils, <br>I stroll along the pathless vale, <br>And smile, and bless thy soothing tale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But ah ! when hoary winter chills <br>The plumy raceand wraps the hills <br>In snowy vest, I tell my pains <br>Beside the brook in icy chains <br>Bound its weedy banks between, <br>While sad I watch night's pensive queen, <br>Just emblem of MY weary woes: <br>For ah ! where'er the virgin goes, <br>Each flow'ret greets her with a tear <br>To sympathetic sorrow dear; <br>And when in black obtrusive clouds <br>The chilly MOON her pale cheek shrouds, <br>I mark the twinkling starry train <br>Exulting glitter in her wane, <br>And proudly gleam their borrow'd light <br>To gem the sombre dome of night. <br>Then o'er the meadows cold and bleak, <br>The glow-worm's glimm'ring lamp I seek. <br>Or climb the craggy cliff to gaze <br>On some bright planet's azure blaze, <br>And o'er the dizzy height inclin'd <br>I listen to the passing wind, <br>That loves my mournful song to seize, <br>And bears it to the mountain breeze. <br>Or where the sparry caves among <br>Dull ECHO sits with aëry tongue, <br>Or gliding on the ZEPHYR'S wings <br>From hill to hill her cadence flings, <br>O, then my melancholy tale <br>Dies on the bosom of the gale, <br>While awful stillness reigning round <br>Blanches my cheek with chilling fear; <br>Till from the bushy dell profound, <br>The woodman's song salutes mine ear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When dark NOVEMBER'S boist'rous breath <br>Sweeps the blue hill and desart heath, <br>When naked trees their white tops wave <br>O'er many a famish'd REDBREAST'S grave, <br>When many a clay-built cot lays low <br>Beneath the growing hills of snow, <br>Soon as the SHEPHERD's silv'ry head <br>Peeps from his tottering straw-roof'd shed, <br>To hail the glimm'ring glimpse of day, <br>With feeble steps he ventures forth <br>Chill'd by the bleak breath of the North, <br>And to the forest bends his way, <br>To gather from the frozen ground <br>Each branch the night-blast scatter'd round. <br>If in some bush o'erspread with snow <br>He hears thy moaning wail of woe, <br>A flush of warmth his cheek o'erspreads, <br>With anxious timid care he treads, <br>And when his cautious hands infold <br>Thy little breast benumb'd with cold, <br>&quot;Come, plaintive fugitive,&quot; he cries, <br>While PITY dims his aged eyes, <br>&quot;Come to my glowing heart, and share <br>&quot;My narrow cell, my humble fare, <br>&quot;Tune thy sweet carolplume thy wing, <br>&quot;And quaff with me the limpid spring, <br>&quot;And peck the crumbs my meals supply, <br>&quot;And round my rushy pillow fly.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, MINSTREL SWEET, whose jocund lay <br>Can make e'en POVERTY look gay, <br>Who can the poorest swain inspire <br>And while he fans his scanty fire, <br>When o'er the plain rough Winter pours <br>Nocturnal blasts, and whelming show'rs, <br>Canst thro' his little mansion fling <br>The rapt'rous melodies of spring. <br>To THEE with eager gaze I turn, <br>Blest solace of the aching breast; <br>Each gaudy, glitt'ring scene I spurn, <br>And sigh for solitude and rest, <br>For art thou not, blest warbler, say, <br>My mind's best balm, my bosom's friend ? <br>Didst thou not trill thy softest lay, <br>And with thy woes my sorrows blend ? <br>YES, darling Songstress ! when of late <br>I sought thy leafy-fringed bow'r, <br>The victim of relentless fate, <br>Fading in life's dark ling'ring hour, <br>Thou heard'st my plaint, and pour'd thy strain <br>Thro' the sad mansion of my breast, <br>And softly, sweetly lull'd to rest <br>The throbbing anguish of my brain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">AH ! while I tread this vale of woe, <br>Still may thy downy measures flow, <br>To wing my solitary hours <br>With kind, obliterating pow'rs; <br>And tho' my pensive, patient heart <br>No wild, extatic bliss shall prove, <br>Tho' life no raptures shall impart, <br>No boundless joy, or, madd'ning love, <br>Sweet NIGHTINGALE, thy lenient strain <br>Shall mock Despair, AND BLUNT THE SHAFT OF PAIN.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Darby+Robinson">Mary Darby Robinson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455646" data-title="Second Ode to the Nightingale de Mary Darby Robinson" data-description="BLEST be thy song, sweet NIGHTINGALE, 
Lorn minstrel of the lonely vale ! 
Where oft I've heard thy dulcet strain 
In mournful melody complain; 
When in the POPLAR'S trembling shade, 
At Evening's purple hour I've stray'd, 
While many a silken fol..."></div>
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