Ballad of the Nightingale.

Hark! when on hill and dale
Hang the night-hushes,
Then sings the nightingale,
Sole among thrushes.

Sole among thrushes, she
Pours out of shadow
Torrents of melody
Over the meadow.

While lesser birds devote
Nighttimes to slumber
Ravishing from her throat
Note after joyful note
Flows without number.

Why does she shun the day
For dark and danger?
There was a Child that lay
Cold in a manger,

Cold in His narrow bed,
Wakeful and chilling.
Him once she comforted
With her sweet trilling;

Sad that a babe should lie
So undefended,
Sang Him a lullaby
Till the night ended,

Sang like the Seraphim.
Then spoke His mother,
"You brought your song to Him,
All the night long to Him,
You and no other.

"Lone on your leafy bough,
Brave though imperiled,
You shall forever now
Be the moon's herald."

When over hill and dale
Fall the night-hushes,
Then sings the nightingale,
Queen among thrushes.

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