Saturday, May 24, 2025

Philomel / Richard Barnfield


Philomel


Rufous (common) Nightingale, 
photo by Carlos Delgado, 2015. 
CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons.

As it fell upon a day 
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow and plants did spring;
Everything did banish moan
Save the Nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn
Lean’d her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull’st ditty,
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 lapp’d 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 (1574-1627)
from the
Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900
(edited by Arthur Quiller Couch), 1918

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

[See also: "Philomela" by Philip Sidney]

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