THE NIGHTINGALE. 53 



Who does not love the birds that flew 

 Round the poor babes' cold forest bed, 



With leaves their lifeless limbs to strew, 

 And sing a requiem o'er the dead ? 



Though but a tale the nurses tell, 



It guards thee with a sacred spell. 



Robin, thou art a welcome guest : 



When winter comes with chilling gale, 



Then in thy ruby corset drest, 

 Thee as a winter friend we hail. 



Then fondly on the tale we dwell, 



That round thee casts its guardian spell. 



Now thou hast pour'd thy parting song 



Amid the leafless forest bow'rs ; 

 A dirge o'er summer's dying throng. 



Of falling leaves and faded flow'rs. 

 And having sung thy sweet farewell, 

 Art come thy pleasant tale to tell ; 

 And in the peasant's cottage dwell, 

 While winter reigns o'er flood and fell. 



ORDER PASSERES. 



The Nightingale. 

 Motacilla Luscinia. 



THE nightingale, the most celebrated of all 

 our birds, is about six inches in length. Cuvier 

 observes : " Every body knows this songster of 

 the night, and the melodious and varied sounds 

 with which it charms the forest. 11 Here, how- 

 ever, the naturalist errs. Many people do not 



