'The painted birds, companions of the spring, Hopping from spray to spray, were heard to sing. Both eyes and ears receiv'd a like delight, Enchanting music, and a charming sight. On Philomel I fix'd my whole desire; And listen'd for the queen of all the quire; Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing; And wanted yet an omen to the spring. Thus as I mus'd I cast aside my eye, And saw a medlar-tree was planted nigh. The spreading branches made a goodly show, And full of opening blooms was every bough: A goldfinch there I saw with gawdy pride Of painted plumes, that hopp'd from side to side, Still pecking as she pass'd; and still she drew The sweets from every flower and suck'd the dew: Suffic'd at length, she warbled in her throat, And tun'd her voice to many a merry note, But indistinct, and neither sweet nor clear, Yet such as sooth'd my soul, and pleas'd my ear. Her short performance was no sooner tried, When she I sought, the nightingale, replied: So sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung, That the grove echoed, and the valleys rung: And I so ravish'd with her heavenly note, I stood entranced, and had no room for thought. But all o'erpower'd with ecstasy of bliss, Was in a pleasing dream of paradise; At length I wak'd, and looking round the bower, Search'd every tree, and pry'd on every flower, If any where by chance I might espy The rural poet of the melody: For still methought she sung not far away: At last I found her on a laurel spray. Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight, Full in a line, against her opposite; Where stood with eglantine the laurel twin'd; And both their native sweets were well conjoin'd. On the green bank I sat, and listen'd long (Sitting was more convenient for the song); Nor till her lay was ended could I move, But wish'd to dwell for ever in the grove. Only methought the time too swiftly pass'd, And every note I fear'd would be the last. My sight, and smell and hearing were employ'd, And all three senses in full gust enjoy'd. And what alone did all the rest surpass The sweet possession of the fairy place; Single, and conscious to myself alone Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown: Pleasures which no where else were to be found, And all Elysium in a spot of ground. Thus while I sat intent to see and hear, And drew perfumes of more than vital air, All suddenly I heard the approaching sound Of vocal music on the enchanted ground: A host of saints it seem'd, so full the quire; As if the bless'd above did all conspire To join their voices, and neglect the lyre.'