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TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

 Motacilla Lusevnia, C L i n n — Sylvia Luscima, ( Lat ham.) 



Thou matchless, yet modest, harmonious Bird! 

 Who hath not with rapture thy singing oft heard? 

 Who hath not oft snatch'd, whattime midnight is still, 

 A moment to listen by copse or by rill ? — 

 A moment, in May-time, when zephyr, not storm. 

 Gives the shadows of moon-light fantastical form ? 

 Not content thou to charm us with song through the 



night, 

 Through the day, too, thy notes oft resound with de- 

 light. 

 O say, are they sad — dost thou grieve while thy song, 

 'Midst the glade, wakens echo and warbles along? 

 Or doth pleasure — doth mirth prompt thy wonderful lay, 

 Or doth love — pensive love — its soft feeling display ? 

 Whatever the cause, be e'er hallowed thy note. 

 That at midnight or moonlight distends thy sweet 

 throat. (0 



(^) Order, Passeres, (Linn.) Nightingale. 



The ^iGHTiKGALEy Motacilla Luscinia, (Linn.) ihe Philomel 

 QV Philomela of the poets, , Sylvia Luscinia, {Latham,) is about 

 six inches long; its colours are very plain, the head and back 

 being of a pale tawny, dashed wiih olive j the throat, breast, 

 and upper part of the belly, of a light ash coluur ; the lower part 

 of the belly almost white; wings and tail tawny -red. Female 



