l8 NIGHTINGALE. 



And sweeter far that melting voice, 

 Than all which through the day rejoice. 



Hemans. 



Oh Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray 

 Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, 

 Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart doth fill, 



While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. 



MiLToy— Sonnet. 



Hear how the Nightingales on every spray. 

 Hail, in wild notes the sweet return of May. 



Sir W. Jones. 



The Nightingale unseen 

 To the moon and stars, full bright, 

 Lonesome chants the hymn of night. 



Phillips. 



Whose trembling notes steal out between 

 The clustered leaves, herself unseen. 



Moore. 



A strain that might almost arouse the dead, 



So loud, so full, so exquisite, so gushing and so long. 



Eliza Cook. 



Her supple bz'east thrills out 

 Sharp airs, and staggers in a warbling doubt 

 Of dallying sweetness, hovers o'er her skill, 

 And folds in waved notes, with a trembling bill 

 The pliant series of her slippery song ; 

 Then starts she suddenly into a throng 



Of short thick sobs 



that there doth lie 



Bathing in streams of liquid melody. 



Crashawe. 



The Nightingales tender condoling. 



Keats. 



This is her burden soft and clear. 

 Love is here ! love is here ! 



Barry Cornwall— iN^^/A^ Song. 



All but the wakeful Nightingale ; 

 She all night long her amorous descant swng ; 

 Silence was pleased. 



Milton — Paradise Lost. 



Mr. Ley has found spotted specimens of the eggs of the 

 Nightingale in Herefordshire, though here as elsewhere the egg is 

 usually of an uniform olive brown colour without any markings. 



