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That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
As he were fearful, that an April night
Would be too short for him to utter forth
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
Of all its music ! And I know a grove
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge
Which the great lord inhabits not : and so
This grove is wild with tangling underwood,
And the trim walks are broken

up,
and

grass,
Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths.
But never elsewhere in one place I knew
So many Nightingales : and far and near
In wood and thicket over the wide grove
They answer and provoke each other's songs-
With skirmish and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical and swift jug jug
And one low piping sound more sweet than all —
Stirring the air with such an harmony,

That should you close your eyes, you might almost Forget it was not day.

A most gentle Maid Who dwelleth in her hospitable home Hard by the Castle, and at latest eve, (Even like a Lady vow'd and dedicate To something more than nature in the grove) Glides thro' the pathways; she knows all their notes, That gentle Maid! and oft, a moment's space, What time the moon was lost behind a cloud, Hath heard a pause of silence : till the Moon Emerging, hath awaken'd earth and sky With one sensation, and those wakeful Birds Have all burst forth with choral minstrelsy, As if one quick and sudden Gale had swept An hundred airy harps ! And she hath watch'd Many a Nightingale perch giddily On blosmy twig still swinging from the breeze,

And to that motion tune his wanton song,
Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head.

Farewell, O Warbler ! till to-morrow eve,
And you, my friends ! farewell, a short farewell !
We have been loitering long and pleasantly
And now for our dear homes.That strain again!
Full fain it would delay me! My dear Babe,
Who, capable of no articulate sound,
Mars all things with his imitative lisp,
How he would place his hand beside his ear,
His little hand, the small forefinger up,
And bid us listen! And I deem it wise
To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well
The evening star : and once when he awoke
In most distressful mood (some inward pain
Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream)
I hurried with him to our orchard plot,
And he beholds the moon, and hush'd at once

Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently,
While his fair eyes that swam with undropt tears
Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam! Well
It is a father's tale. But if that Heaven
Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up
Familiar with these songs, that with the night
He

may associate Joy! Once more farewell, Sweet Nightingale ! once more, my friends ! farewell.

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