If you would like to use our texts and translations, please click here for more information.
Text
The Lost Nightingale
English source:
Helen Jane Waddell
Whoever stole you from that bush of broom,
I think he envied me my happiness,
O little nightingale, for many a time
You lightened my sad heart from its distress,
And flooded my whole soul with melody,
And I would have the other birds all come,
And sing along with me thy threnody.
So brown and dim that little body was,
But none could scorn thy singing. In that throat,
That tiny throat, what depth of harmony,
And all night long, ringing that changing note,
What marvel if the cherubim in heaven
Continually do praise Him, when to thee,
O small and happy, such a grace was given?
I think he envied me my happiness,
O little nightingale, for many a time
You lightened my sad heart from its distress,
And flooded my whole soul with melody,
And I would have the other birds all come,
And sing along with me thy threnody.
So brown and dim that little body was,
But none could scorn thy singing. In that throat,
That tiny throat, what depth of harmony,
And all night long, ringing that changing note,
What marvel if the cherubim in heaven
Continually do praise Him, when to thee,
O small and happy, such a grace was given?
from Medieval Latin Lyrics (1929)
Composer
Muriel Herbert
Muriel Herbert (1897-1984) was born in Sheffield and grew up in Liverpool. She showed musical talent at an early age but the death of her father when she was twelve plunged the family into poverty. The Liverpool Scholarship in Composition enabled…
