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THE BLACK-CAFS SONG. 



Motacilla Airicapilla.—'LnnNJEVs, 

 Sylvia Atricapilla.'^Ij aiu am. 



*' The mimic melodist, 

 The Black-cap from some tangled sloe bash trills 

 His varying song : now as some merulid*s, 

 Now as Lusci7iian Sylviad's* aloud 

 His note ; and now in strain original 

 Excites the woods to listen." 



From an unpublished Poem, 



Her loveliness, oh, who shall tell. 

 Or, of beauty, what is the magic spell ; — 

 And what that affection, pure and fine. 

 That around the heart unseen doth twine ? 



And who shall tell the deep feeling now 

 That is hid in the leaves of the waving bough;— 

 And who shall tell that breast's delight. 

 When my song lays it gently to rest at night? 



Hush, hush, ye winds! and ye noises rude ! 

 On my love's repose how dare ye intrude ; 

 Begone with thy steeds, thou garish day ! 

 And then I will warble my love a lay. (*') 



* The Nightingale. 



