NOT ALL SWEET NIGHTINGALES

by: Luis de Argote y Góngora (1561-1627)

HEY are not all sweet nightingales

That fill with songs the flowery vales;

But they are little silver bells,

Touched by the winds in the smiling dells;

Magic bells of gold in the grove,

Forming a chorus for her I love.

 

Think not the voices in the air

Are from the wingéd Sirens fair,

Playing among the dewy trees

Chanting their morning mysteries;

Oh! if you listen, delighted there,

To their music scattered o'er the dales,

They are not all sweet nightingales

That fill with songs the flowery vales;

But they are little silver bells,

Touched by the winds in the smiling dells;

Magic bells of gold in the grove,

Forming a chorus for her I love.

 

Oh! 'twas a lovely song -- of art

To charm -- of nature to touch the heart;

Sure 'twas some shepherd's pipe, which played

By passion fills the forest shade;

No! 'tis music's diviner part

Which o'er the yielding spirit prevails.

They are not all sweet nightingales

That fill with songs the flowery vales;

But they are little silver bells,

Touched by the winds in the smiling dells;

Magic bells of gold in the grove,

Forming a chorus for her I love.

 

In the eye of love, which all things sees,

The fragrance-breathing jasmine trees--

And the golden flowers -- and the sloping hill--

And the ever melancholy rill--

Are full of holiest sympathies,

And tell of love a thousand tales.

They are not all sweet nightingales,

That fill with songs the cheerful vales;

But they are little silver bells,

Touched by the wind in the smiling dells,

Bells of gold in the secret grove,

Making music for her I love.

Till I too shared thy heavenly rest.

--Translated by John Bowring

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