Authors Note: The sonnet used in this story is "To a Nightingale" by
Charlotte Smith. Please read and review, thanks! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Reboot nor do I own any of Charlotte Smith's work.
1.1 The Nightingale
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Poor melancholy bird--that all night long
Tell'st to the moon thy tale of tender woe;
From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow,
And whence this mournful melody of song?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The nightingale watched the violet-eyed one. She (the violet-eyed one) had wandered into the nightingale's evening safe haven and now she was singing. Singing to no one but the moon. And it was a sad song. The song had no rhyme, no rhythm, no pentameter, no nothing--it just flowed out of her body as freely as the tears that flowed from her eyes. Unusual, this was. Usually it was the nightingale singing and the tall ones who listened. Usually, if one of them interrupted the nightingale's melody with their own, the nightingale would fly away, wanting to sing in peace. Yet tonight, when this one had started singing, the nightingale hadn't been able to fly away. There was something hauntingly familiar about the song and the tone of the voice--it was much like the songs the nightingale itself sung. What could have happened to make this violet-eyed one sing such an intensely sad song?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
2 Thy poet's musing fancy would translate
What mean the sounds that swell thy little breast,
When still at dewy eve thou leav'st thy nest,
Thus to the listening night to sing thy fate?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The nightingale wished they two could understand each other. They might be able to offer each other comfort. But alas, nature's borders kept them from doing anything but listening to each other's vocal poetry. Yet maybe that was enough. The violet eyed one could easily sing alone in her own nest. But she had come here. Perhaps she needed someone to listen. After all, the nightingale often liked it when others listened to its sorrowful song. The nightingale still wondered what could make the violet-eyed one so unhappy. Her song was so hurt, almost without hope. What had the fates done to her?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Pale sorrow's victims wert thou once among,
3 Tho' now released in woodlands wild to rove?
Say--hast thou felt from friends some cruel wrong,
Or died'st thou--martyr of disastrous love?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The violet-eyed one's sorrow was heavy. That kind of misery came only from the most horrible hardships. Did someone close to her die recently? Or perhaps long ago--grief could stay fresh for many years. Had friends betrayed her? Oh how awful! Or was it love? Oh the worst! Had her life been torn apart by love? The nightingale longed to know. The nightingale sighed and wished it could sing to the violet-eyed one and make her understand that it was better to sing not to the birds of the night but to the ones who really need to hear the singing. The nightingale had lived a long life and one mistake, it had noticed, that the tall ones often made was not singing when they felt the song within them. They almost always kept it inside, sometimes with disastrous results.
The violet-eyed one had stopped singing and was now just staring up at the moon. The nightingale decided to show her understanding of the violet-eyed one's suffering by singing her own sad song.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dot looked down from the sky at the sound of the soft, sweet, sad singing of the nightingale. She sighed and whispered,
"Ah! songstress sad! that such my lot might be,
To sigh and sing at liberty--like thee!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Disclaimer: I do not own Reboot nor do I own any of Charlotte Smith's work.
1.1 The Nightingale
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Poor melancholy bird--that all night long
Tell'st to the moon thy tale of tender woe;
From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow,
And whence this mournful melody of song?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The nightingale watched the violet-eyed one. She (the violet-eyed one) had wandered into the nightingale's evening safe haven and now she was singing. Singing to no one but the moon. And it was a sad song. The song had no rhyme, no rhythm, no pentameter, no nothing--it just flowed out of her body as freely as the tears that flowed from her eyes. Unusual, this was. Usually it was the nightingale singing and the tall ones who listened. Usually, if one of them interrupted the nightingale's melody with their own, the nightingale would fly away, wanting to sing in peace. Yet tonight, when this one had started singing, the nightingale hadn't been able to fly away. There was something hauntingly familiar about the song and the tone of the voice--it was much like the songs the nightingale itself sung. What could have happened to make this violet-eyed one sing such an intensely sad song?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
2 Thy poet's musing fancy would translate
What mean the sounds that swell thy little breast,
When still at dewy eve thou leav'st thy nest,
Thus to the listening night to sing thy fate?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The nightingale wished they two could understand each other. They might be able to offer each other comfort. But alas, nature's borders kept them from doing anything but listening to each other's vocal poetry. Yet maybe that was enough. The violet eyed one could easily sing alone in her own nest. But she had come here. Perhaps she needed someone to listen. After all, the nightingale often liked it when others listened to its sorrowful song. The nightingale still wondered what could make the violet-eyed one so unhappy. Her song was so hurt, almost without hope. What had the fates done to her?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Pale sorrow's victims wert thou once among,
3 Tho' now released in woodlands wild to rove?
Say--hast thou felt from friends some cruel wrong,
Or died'st thou--martyr of disastrous love?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The violet-eyed one's sorrow was heavy. That kind of misery came only from the most horrible hardships. Did someone close to her die recently? Or perhaps long ago--grief could stay fresh for many years. Had friends betrayed her? Oh how awful! Or was it love? Oh the worst! Had her life been torn apart by love? The nightingale longed to know. The nightingale sighed and wished it could sing to the violet-eyed one and make her understand that it was better to sing not to the birds of the night but to the ones who really need to hear the singing. The nightingale had lived a long life and one mistake, it had noticed, that the tall ones often made was not singing when they felt the song within them. They almost always kept it inside, sometimes with disastrous results.
The violet-eyed one had stopped singing and was now just staring up at the moon. The nightingale decided to show her understanding of the violet-eyed one's suffering by singing her own sad song.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dot looked down from the sky at the sound of the soft, sweet, sad singing of the nightingale. She sighed and whispered,
"Ah! songstress sad! that such my lot might be,
To sigh and sing at liberty--like thee!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*