26 THE XIGHTIXGALE 



flourishes, succeed each other rapidly, — and then again 

 they all blend in a dim, dreamy melody. In that original 

 strain, « In shadiest covert hid, » you seem to inhale the 

 perfume of the lily of the valley and of sweet scented 

 forest flowerets , the sap of budding leaves, the gushing 

 joy of life in its full bloom. 



\A hen I was twenty years old and living in a village, 

 how many nights i passed leaning on the open window- 

 sill, listening to the song of the nightingales dispersed 

 in the bowers ! They lesponded by turns and seemed to 

 vie with each other in eloquence and passion. All around, 

 far and near, the orchards were plunged in mysterious 

 darkness. I listciuHl, charmed, spell-bound, as if I were 

 living in fairy-land. To this ever varying, thrilling me- 

 lody I would |)ul unconnected words, such as one mur- 

 murs in a dream, and I felt myself lifted up, carried 

 away in a magnificent current of poetry. 



Even to day. wIkmi I spend the month of May in the 

 country, it ]ia|)|)(Mis to mc to listen at night to the amo- 

 rous serenade of the nightingale, trying to recall the 

 emotions and enchantment of by gone days. But alas! 

 youth never comes back to those to whom it has once sung 

 its« Song of songs w. Sj)ring time ivturns, leaves grow green, 

 nightingales breathe again their serenade in the blooming 

 appl(>-lrecs . but other generations enjoy the feast and 

 inhale the balmy breath, the intoxicating liquor of May! 

 It is the same strain and the same fermentation of sap 



