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NIGHTINGALE VALLEY.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

NIGHTINGALE, that on yon

bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the

woods are still,

Thou with fresh hopes the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. The liquid notes that close the eye

of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,

Portend success in love. 0! if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell 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.

MILTON.

[graphic]

B

[WAKE, LADY!]

UE

P! quit thy bower, late wears the hour,

Long have the rooks caw'd round the tower; O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee, And the wild kid sports merrily. The sun is bright, the sky is clear, Wake, lady! wake, and hasten here.

Up! maiden fair, and bind thy hair,
And rouse thee in the breezy air :
The lulling stream that soothed thy dream
Is dancing in the sunny beam.
Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay,
Leave thy soft couch, and haste away.

Up! time will tell the morning bell
Its service-sound has chimed well :
The aged crone keeps house alone,
The reapers to the fields are gone ;
Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay,
Lo! while thou sleep’st they haste away!

JOANNA BAILLIE.

INSCRIPTION

FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH.

THIS Sycamore, oft musical with bees,-
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long

unharm'd
May all its aged boughs o'er-canopy

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