“Sonnet
on the Departure of the Nightingale
“Sweet
poet of the wood – a long adieu!
Farewell
soft minstrel of the early year!
Oh!
Twill be long ere thou shalt sing anew,
And
pour thy music on the night’s still ear,
Whether
on Spring thy wandering flights await,
Or
whether, silent in our groves you dwell,
The
pensive muse shall own thee for her mate,
And
still protect the song she loves so well.
With
cautious step, the love-lorn youth shall glide,
Through
the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest,
And
shepherd girls from eyes profane shall hide,
The
gentle bird who sings of Pity best:
For
still thy voice shall soft affections move
And
still be dear to Sorrow and to Love!
Salem,
October 1828 P S Billings
[Complete original:
ON THE
DEPARTURE OF THE NIGHTINGALE.
SWEET poet of the woods--a long
adieu!
Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year!
Ah! 'twill be long ere thou shalt sing anew,
And pour thy music on 'the night's dull ear.'
Whether on Spring thy wandering flights await,
Or whether silent in our groves you dwell,
The pensive muse shall own thee for her mate,
And still protect the song she loves so well.
With cautious step, the love-lorn youth shall glide
Thro' the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest;
And shepherd girls, from eyes profane shall hide
The gentle bird, who sings of pity best:
For still thy voice shall soft affections move,
And still be dear to sorrow, and to love!
BY CHARLOTTE SMITH.
COMPRISED IN ONE VOLUME.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY JONES & COMPANY,
3, ACTON PLACE, KINGSLAND ROAD.
1827.
]
The
Album
“Friendship’s
endearing record, pleasing remembrances of youthful acquaintance, with how many
delightful associations does it crowd the mind! How fondly it brings to recollection our juvenile associates,
their words, their thoughts and the pleasures we have enjoyed in their
company! It recalls scenes which are past,
scenes that are never to return, but scenes on which remembrance will ever dwell
with exquisite fondness. It reminds us,
too, how frequently the most pure, genuine, and disinterested ties of
affection, are severed in time and absence.
It shows, likewise, how seldom we are permitted to enjoy, in age, the
society of those to whom we were attached in youth, by all the congeniality of
feeling and sentiment. When we have
arrived even at maturity, should we look around for the companions of our
childhood, how few can we find? They
are either scattered in distant countries, unknown to us—or they have been
arrested in their youthful career by the cold hand of Death! Those to whom we were once bound by every
tender feeling that can link “harmonious souls” together, are never to be heard
from more! How melancholy! How much to
be regretted! But how true is the
reflection!” --- F C G
N.
London, April 1829
“Life
is real, life is earnest!—
And
the grave is not its goal;
‘Dust
thou art!—to dust returneth’
Was
not spoken of the soul.
Art
is long and time is fleeting,
And
our hearts, the stout and brave,
Still
like muffled drums are beating
Funeral
marches to the grave.
M E L
1853
[this
above is on a left-hand page, meaning it was added years later by the owner, 2
years before her mother’s death at 74]
Earthly
Hopes
“Oh
he who builds his hut upon the brink
Of
some tremendous precipice, that hangs
And
totters o’er the yawning gulf below,--
Or
he who builds on the volcano’s verge,--
Or
where the earthquake but an hour before,
Shook
thousand domes to ruin,--he is wise
Compared
with him who rests his riches, hopes
On
earth and its delusions”.
