A Nightingale,that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Began to feel as well he might
The keen demands of appetite.
When,looking eagerly around,
He spied off,upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So,stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm,aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus,right eloquent-
“Did you admire my lamp,”quoth he,
“As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong
As much as I to spoil your song.
For it was the self-same power divine,
Taught you to sing,and me to shine;
That you with music,I was light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.”
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him,as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.