Classic Poem

The bird of midnight swell'd her throat,
The virgins listen'd round
To Sorrow's deeply-warbled note,
To sweet but solemn sound:

When soon the lark ascending high,
In sun-beams idly play'd;
As soon to greet him, see, they fly—
One pensive virgin stay'd.

She stay'd to hear the mourner sing;
The rest, to Nature true,
The flutter of the gayer wing
The vacant song pursue.