Nightingale, O nightingale, Nightingale so full of song! Tell me, tell me, where thou fliest, Where to sing now in the night? Will another maiden hear thee, Like to me, poor me, all night Sleepless, restless, comfortless, Ever full of tears her eyes? Fly, O fly, dear nightingale, Over hundred countries fly, Over the blue sea so far! Spy the distant countries through, Town and village, hill and dell, Whether thou find’st anyone, Who so sad is as I am? Oh, I bore a necklace once, All of pearls like morning dew; And I bore a finger-ring, With a precious stone thereon; And I bore deep in my heart Love, a love so warm and true. When the sad, sad autumn came, Were the pearls no longer clear; And in winter burst my ring, On my finger, of itself! Ah! and when the spring came on, Had forgotten me my love. --From Talvi’s _Historical View_. ELEGY O thou field! thou clean and level field! O thou plain, so far and wide around! Level field, dressed up with everything, Everything; with sky-blue flowerets small, Fresh green grass, and bushes thick with leaves; But defaced by one thing, but by one! For in thy very middle stands a broom, On the broom a young grey eagle sits, And he butchers wild a raven black, Sucks the raven’s heart-blood glowing hot, Drenches with it, too, the moistened earth. Ah, black raven, youth so good and brave! Thy destroyer is the eagle grey. Not a swallow ’tis, that hovering clings, Hovering clings to her warm little nest; To the murdered son the mother clings. And her tears fall like the rushing stream, And his sister’s like the flowing rill; Like the dew her tears fall of his love: When the sun shines, it dries up the dew. --From Talvi’s _Historical View_. THE FAREWELL Brightly shining sank the waning moon, And the sun all beautiful arose; Not a falcon floated through the air, Strayed a youth along the river’s brim. Slowly strayed he on and dreamingly, Sighing looked unto the garden green, Heart all filled with sorrow mused he so: “All the little birds are now awake, All, embracing with their little wings, Greeting, all have sung their morning songs. But, alas! that sweetest doveling mine, She who was my youth’s first dawning love, In her chamber slumbers fast and deep. Ah, not even her friend is in her dreams, Ah! no thought of me bedims her soul, While my heart is torn with wildest grief, That she comes to meet me here no more.”