tINGALE;A CONVERSAtIONAL POEM, RIttEN IN APRIL, 1798.

    No cloud, no relique of the sunken day

    Distinguis, no long thin slip

    Of sullen Ligrembling hues.

    Come,  on this old mossy Bridge!

    You see tream beneath,

    But  ?oly

    Oer its soft bed of verdure. All is still,

    A balmy nigars be dim,

    Yet let us the vernal showers

    t gladden th, and we shall ?nd

    A pleasure in tars.

    And ingale begins its song,

    quot;Most musical, most melanc;[1] Bird!

    A melanc!

    In nature thing melancholy.

    --But some nig was piercd

    ithe remembrance of a grievous wrong,

    Or sloemper or neglected love,

    (And so, poor retch himself

    And made all gentle sounds tell back tale

    Of his own sorrows) he and such as he

    First namd tes a melancrain;

    And many a poet ec,

    Poet, whe rhyme

    ter far retchd his limbs

    Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell

    By sun or moonligo the in?uxes

    Of sing elements

    Surrendering , of his song

    And of ful! so his fame

    Sures immortality,

    A venerable thing! and so his song

    Sure lovelier, and itself

    Be lovd, like nature!--But t be so;

    And yout poetical

    wilighe spring

    In ball-rooms and  tres, till

    Full of meek sympat heir sighs

    Oer Py-pleading strains.

    My Friend, and my Friends Sister! we

    A different lore:  thus profane

    Natures s voices always full of love

    And joyance! tis tingale

    t croes

    it tes,

    As  an April night

    ould be too s for o utter forth

    , and disburthen his full soul

    Of all its music! And I know a grove

    Of large extent, le huge

    lord ins not: and so

    tangling underwood,

    And trim walks are broken up, and grass,

    ths.

    But never elsewhere in one place I knew

    So many Nightingales: and far and near

    In  over the wide grove

    thers songs--

    ith skirmish and capricious passagings,

    And murmurs musical and s jug jug

    And one lo than all--

    Stirring th such an harmony,

    t s almost

    Forget it  day! On moonlight bushes,

    s are but half disclosd,

    You may percwigs,

    t, brig and full,

    Glistning, whe shade

    Ligorch.

    A most gentle maid

    able home

    le, and at latest eve,

    (Even like a Lady voe

    to someture in the grove)

    Glides tes,

    t gentle Maid! and oft, a moments space,

    time t behind a cloud,

    ill the Moon

    Emerging, h and sky

    ition, and those wakeful Birds

    fortrelsy,

    As if one quick and sudden Gale

    An chd

    Many a Nightingale perch giddily

    On blosmy till she breeze,

    And to t motion tune on song,

    Like tipsy Joy t reels ossing head.

    Fareill to-morrow eve,

    And you, my friends! farewell, a s farewell!

    e ering long and pleasantly,

    And norain again!

    Full fain it would delay me!--My dear Babe,

    iculate sound,

    Mars all tative lisp,

    how he would place his hand beside his ear,

    tle he small fore?nger up,

    And bid us listen! And I deem it wise

    to make ures playmate. he knows well

    tar: and once when he awoke

    In most distressful mood (some inward pain

    strange ts dream)

    I o our orc,

    And  once

    Suspends  silently,

    s tears

    Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam! ell--

    It is a fatale. But if t heaven

    Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up

    Familiar

    e Joy! Once more farewell,

    S Nightingale! once more, my friends! farewell.

    <span style="color:Gray">[1] quot;_Most musical, most melanc; tonpossesses an excellence far superior to t of meredescription: it is spoken in ter of tic_ propriety. to rescue y to a line in Milton: a co  per ofhaving ridiculed his Bible.