Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
R. Barnefield
XXXIV. The Nightingale
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,         5
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,  10
And there sung the dolefullest 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  15
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:  20
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  25
Careless of thy sorrowing: 
Even so, poor bird, like thee 
None alive will pity me. 

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