C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Death of the Nightingale
By Ludwig Heinrich Christoph Hölty (17481776)
S
Alas! no more!
The songstress who enlivened all the vale,—
Her songs are o’er;
She whose sweet tones, in golden evening hours,
Rang through my breast,
When, by the brook that murmured ’mong the flowers,
I lay at rest.
The silvery lay,
Till in her caves sweet Echo caught the note,
Far, far away!
Then was the hour when village pipe and song
Sent up their sound,
And dancing maidens lightly tripped along
The moonlit ground.
Far down the grove,
While on his rapt face hung a youthful bride
In speechless love.
Their hands were locked oft as thy silvery strain
Rang through the vale;
They heeded not the merry dancing train,
Sweet nightingale!
Chimed on the ear,
And like a golden fleece, the evening star
Beamed bright and clear.
Then, in the cool and fanning breeze of May,
Homeward they stole,
Full of sweet thoughts, breathed by thy tender lay
Through the deep soul.