634 BIRDS. 



length, and sweetness of its notes, visits England the beginning of 

 April, and leaves us in August. It is a species that does not 

 spread itself over the island. It is not found in North Wales ; or 

 in any of the English counties north of it, except Yorkshire, 

 where they are met with in great plenty about Doncaster. They 

 have been also heard, but rarely, near Shrewsbury. It is also 

 remarkable, that this bird does not migrate so far west as Devon- 

 shire and Cornwall ; counties where the seasons are so very mild, 

 that myrtles flourish in the open air during the whole year : ueither 

 are they found in Ireland. Sibbald places them in his list of 

 Scotch birds ; but they certainly are unknown in that -part of 

 Great Britain, probably from the scarcity and the recent intro- 

 duction of hedges there. Yet they visit Sweden, a much more 

 severe climate. With us they frequent thick hedges, and low 

 coppices ; and generally keep in the middle of the bush, so that 

 they are very rarely seen. They form their nest of oak-leaves, a 

 few bents, and reeds. The eggs are of a deep brown. When 

 the young first come abroad, and are helpless, the old birds make 

 a plaintive and jarring noise, with a sort of snapping, as if in 

 menace, pursuing along the edge the passengers. 



They begin their song in the evening, and continue it the whole 

 night. These their vigils did not pass unnoticed by the ancients ; 

 the slumbers of these birds were proverbial ; and not to rest as 

 much as the nightingale expressed a very bad sleeper*. This was 

 the favourite bird of the British poet, who omits no opportunity 

 of introducing it, and almost constantly noting its love of solitude 

 and night. How finely does it serve to compose part of the 

 solemn scenery of his Penseroso, when he describes it. 



In her saddest sweetest plight, 

 Smoothing the rugged brow of night ; 

 While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke, 

 Gently o'er the accustom'd oak ; 

 Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, 

 Most musical, most melancholy ! 

 Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among, 

 I woo to hear thy evening song. 



.Elian Var. Hist. 577, both in the text and note. It must be remarked, 

 that nightingales sing also in the day. 



