And sweeter 'tis than lonely lute
Heard in the air at night—
Divine and universal toungue,
Whether by bird or spirit sung!
But hark! is that a sound we hear
Come chirping from its throat,—
Faint—short—but weak, and very clear,
And like a little grateful note?
Another? ha—look where it lies,
It shivers—gasps—is still,—it dies!