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THE NIGHTINGALE. 



difference, nevertheless, exists between the two birds : the lark never 

 sings in the night ; hers is not the nocturnal melody, the hidden 

 meaning of the grand effects of evening, the deep poesy of the 

 shadows, the solemnity of midnight, the aspirations before dawn 

 — in a word, that infinitely varied poem which translates and 

 reveals to us, in all its changes, a gi-eat heart brimful of tenderness. 

 The lark's is the lyrical genius ; the nightingale's, the epic, the 

 drama, the inner struggle, — from thence, a light aparb. In deep 

 darkness, it looks into its soul, into love ; soaring at times, it 

 would seem, beyond the individual love into the ocean of love 

 infinite. 



And will you not call him an artist ? He has the artist's tem- 

 perament, and exalted to a degi-ee which man himself rarely attains. 

 All which belongs to it^ — all its merits, all its defects — in him are 

 superabundant. He is mild and timid, mistrustfvd, but not at all 

 cunning. He takes no heed to his safety, and travels alone. He is 

 burningly jealous, equalling the chaffinch in fieiy emulation. " He 

 will break his heart to sing," says one of his historians.* He listens ; 

 he takes up his abode, especially where an echo exists, to listen and 



reply. Nervous to an excess, one sees him in captivity sometimes 

 sleeping long through the day with perturbing dreams ; sometimes 



* Everj-bodj' knows the beautiful story of the '• Musician's Duel" — the rivalry between 

 a nightingale and a flute-player — as told by Ford and Crashaw. — Translator. 



