Page:Modern poets and poetry of Spain.djvu/335

Rh But, hark! what dulcet notes arise The neighbouring woods among? Causing these tender thoughts and sighs My lonely breast to throng. Sweet Nightingale, it is thy song! I always loved thy wood-notes wild, Like me from sorrow ne'er beguiled. Perish whoe'er for thy soft note Seeks thee to oppress or take. Why rather not like me remote, Thee follow through the brake, Where these thick woods our shelter make? Fly free and happy round thy nest; Enslaved I wish none, none oppress'd. Night, ancient goddess! Chaos thee Produced before the sun; And the last sun 't is thine to see When the world's course is run; And the Lord wills his work undone! Hear me, while this life's breath is raised, By me thou shalt be loved and praised. Before time was, in Chaos vast Thou laid perhaps mightst view Thy coming beauties, as forecast Thy destined glories grew: