The Night Bird: A Myth

A floating, a floating
Across the sleeping sea,
All night I heard a singing bird
Upon the topmost tree.

'Oh came you off the isles of Greece,
Or off the banks of Seine;
Or off some tree in forests free,
Which fringe the western main?'

'I came not off the old world
Nor yet from off the new -
But I am one of the birds of God
Which sing the whole night through.'

'Oh sing, and wake the dawning -
Oh whistle for the wind;
The night is long, the current strong,
My boat it lags behind.'

'The current sweeps the old world,
The current sweeps the new;
The wind will blow, the dawn will glow
Ere thou hast sailed them through.'

Eversley, 1848.

Charles Kingsley

Charles Kingsley was an English writer, historian, and clergyman born on June 12, 1819, in Holne, Devon. He was associated with the Christian Socialist movement and was a friend of prominent figures such as Charles Darwin. Kingsley is best known for his historical novels, including 'Westward Ho!' and 'Hypatia,' as well as his children's book 'The Water-Babies.' His works often explore social issues and aim to contribute to societal reform. Kingsley died on January 23, 1875, in Eversley, Hampshire.

Charles Kingsley

Pen-Y-Gwrydd: To Tom Hughes, Esq.

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

Elegiacs

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

The Young Knight: A Parable

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

The Day Of The Lord

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

English

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A Ballad of Dreamland

I hid my heart in a nest of roses,
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Under the roses I hid my heart.
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What made sleep flutter his wings and part?
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Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes,
And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart;
Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes,
And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art.
Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart?
Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred?
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Only the song of a secret bird.

The green land's name that a charm encloses,
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Bird Raptures.

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come darkness, moonrise, every thing
That is so silent, sweet, and pale:
Come, so ye wake the nightingale.

Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon,
Make haste to wake the nightingale:
Let silence set the world in tune
To hearken to that wordless tale
Which warbles from the nightingale

O herald skylark, stay thy flight
One moment, for a nightingale
Floods us with sorrow and delight.
To-morrow thou shalt hoist the sail;
Leave us to-night the nightingale.

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Loch Torridon

To E. H.


The dawn of night more fair than morning rose,
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Shone shelterless for strangers; and unseen
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The dark sharp sudden gorge dropped seaward, then,
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The Nightingale

No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath,
But hear no murmuring: it flows silently.
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still.
A balmy night! and though the stars be dim,
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
And hark! the Nightingale begins its song,
'Most musical, most melancholy' bird!
A melancholy bird? Oh! idle thought!
In Nature there is nothing melancholy.
But some night-wandering man whose heart was pierced
With the remembrance of a grievous wrong,
Or slow distemper, or neglected love,

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Letter IV. From A Young Nightingale To A Wren. (The Bird And Insects' Post-Office.)

Dated "Home Wood."

NEIGHBOUR,

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The Watchman

'Watchman, what of the night?'
    'The stars are out in the sky;
And the merry round moon will be rising soon,
    For us to go sailing by.'

'Watchman, what of the night?'
    'The tide flows in from the sea;
There's water to float a little cockboat
    Will carry such fishers as we.'

'Watchman, what of the night?'
    'The night is a fruitful time;
When to many a pair are born children fair,
    To be christened at morning chime.'

1849.

Charles Kingsley