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Thee wondrous we may call,
Most wondrous this of all,

That such a tiny throat
Should wake so loud a sound, and pour so loud

a note. MARIA TESSELSCHADE VISSCHER (Dutch). Translation

of JOHN BOWRING.

PHILOMELA. HARK! ah, the nightingale ! The tawny-throated ! Hark! from that moonlit cedar what a burst ! What triumph ! hark, — what pain ! O wanderer from a Grecian shore, Still — after many years, in distant lands – Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain That wild, unquenched, deep-sunken, Old-World

pain,

Say, will it never heal ?
And can this fragrant lawn,
With its cool trees, and night,
And the sweet, tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew,
To thy racked heart and brain

Afford no balm ?

Everything did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Leaned her breast up-till a thorn ; And there sung the dolefull'st ditty That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie ! now would she cry ; Teru, teru, by and by ; That, to hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain ; For her griefs, so lively shown, Made me think upon mine own. Ah ! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain ; None takes pity on thy pain ; Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee; Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee ; King Pandion, he is dead; All thy friends are lapped in lead : All thy fellow-birds do sing, Careless of thy sorrowing ! Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, Thou and I were both beguiled, Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in misery. Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. Every man will be thy friend Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; But, if stores of crowns be scant, No man will supply thy want. If that one be prodigal, Bountiful they will him call; And, with such-like flattering, “Pity but he were a king." If he be addict to vice, Quickly him they will entice; But if Fortune once do frown, Then farewell his great renown : They that fawned on him before, Use his company no more. He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need ; If thou sorrow, he will weep, If thou wake, he cannot sleep. Thus, of every grief in heart, He with thee doth bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flattering foe.

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RICHARD BARNFIELD.

ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE.

As it fell upon a day,
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did lear, and birds did sing,
Trucs did grow, and plants did spring;

I HAVE seen a nightingale
On a sprig of thyme bewail,
Seeing the dear nest, which was
Hers alone, borne off, alas !
By a laborer ; I heard,

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