THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
119 
Admiring evening stays her beamy star. 
And still night listens from her ebon car , 
While, on white wings, descending houris throng, 
And drink the floods of odour and of song. 
Darwin. 
Many of our old English poets have exerted the 
most luxuriant imaginations in celebrating this song- 
ster. In Milton's beautiful poem of " Paradise 
Lost,'^ the nightingale holds a distinguished place : — 
O Nightingale, that, on yon bloomy spray, 
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still. 
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart doth fill. 
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. 
Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day, 
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, 
Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will 
Have link'd that am'rous pow'r to thy soft lay. 
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate 
Foretel my hapless doom in some grove nigh 
As thou from year to year hast sung too late 
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. 
Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, 
Both them I serve, and of their train am I. 
