A Nightingale, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel--as well he might--
The keen demands of appetite;
When looking eagerly around,
He spied, far 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 this, quite 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 'twas the self-same power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine:
That you with music, I with 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.