One ceaseless song, one grateful lay,
Each feather'd songster raises.
And when Night's grim and sable band,
Spreads her dim curtains o'er the land,
And all our prospect closes;
Then Philomela, queen of song,
The sweetest of the feather'd throng,
Takes up the theme the whole night long,
While nature all reposes.
Then surely I, the humblest bird,