THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 109 
places where sweet herbs grow, and, I am told, par- 
ticularly delights in the perfume of musk, and that a 
grain or two of it put into cotton and inserted in a reed, 
or cane, serving for a perch, will entice him to sing. 
So much has been said and sung in praise of this 
sweet bird, by poets of all nations, that it is not likely 
I can have anything new to advance ; I can only join 
my mite to the general voice in its favour. To this 
sweet serenader I have been indebted for many hours 
of calm repose which I otherwise should not have 
had ; and how often have I found myself repeating 
the following beautiful lines, by Coleridge : — 
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day 
Distinguishes the west; no long thin slip 
Of sullen light; no obscure trembling hues. 
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge : 
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 
But hear no murmuring ; it flows silently 
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, 
A balmy night ! and though the stars be dim, 
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers 
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find 
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. 
L 
