Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages онлайн

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That to hear it was great pity.

Fie, fie, fie! now would she cry;

Tereu, tereu! 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 lapped in lead;

All thy fellow birds do sing

Careless of thy sorrowing:

Even so, poor bird, like thee,

None alive will pity me.

Richard Barnfield

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A sparhawk proud did hold in wicked jail

Music's sweet chorister, the Nightingale;

To whom with sighs she said: "O set me free,

And in my song I'll praise no bird but thee."

The Hawk replied: "I will not lose my diet

To let a thousand such enjoy their quiet."

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He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;