ress, I come; now reach a strain, my lute, we her mock, or be for ever mute.

une a song of victory to me,

-o thyself sing thine own obsequie ;
aid, his hands sprightly as fire he flings,
with a quavering coyness tastes the strings:
sweet-lipped sisters, musically frighted,
ging their fears, are fearfully delighted:
mbling as when Apollo's golden hairs
- fanned and frizzled in the wanton airs
his own breath, which, married to his lyre,

th tune the sphears, and make heaven's self look higher; m this to that, from that to this he flies,

els musick's pulse in all her arteries;
ught in a net which there Apollo spreads,
s fingers struggle with the vocal threads,
llowing those little rills, he sinks into
sea of Helicon; his hand does go

ose parts of sweetness, which with nectar drop,
fter than that which pants in Hebe's cup:
ne humourous strings expound his learned touch
y various glosses; now they seem to grutch,
nd murmure in a buzzing dinue, then gingle
à shrill-tongued accents, striving to be single;
very smooth turn, every delicious stroke

ives life to some new grace; thus doth h' invoke
weetness by all her names; thus, bravely thus
Fraught with a fury so harmonious)

The lute's light genius now does proudly rise,
Heaved on the surges of swoln rapsodies;
Whose flourish (meteor-like) doth curle the air
With flash of high-born fancies, here and there
Dancing in lofty measures, and anon
Creep on the soft touch of a tender tone,
Whose trembling murmurs melting in wild airs
Runs to and fro, complaining his sweet cares;
Because those precious mysteries that dwell
In musick's ravish't soul he dare not tell,
But whisper to the world: thus do they vary,
Each string his note, as if they meant to carry
Their master's blest soul (snatcht out at his ears
By a strong ecstasy), through all the sphears
Of musick's heaven; and seat it there on high
In th' empyræum of pure harmony.
At length (after so long, so loud a strife
Of all the strings, still breathing the best life

L

This done, he lists what she would say to this,
And she, although her breath's late exercise
Had dealt too roughly with her tender throat,
Yet summons all her sweet powers for a note;
Alas! in vain! for while (sweet soul) she tries
To measure all those wild diversities

Of chatt'ring strings, by the small size of one
Poor simple voice, raised in a natural tone;
She fails, and failing grieves, and grieving dies;
She dies, and leaves her life the victor's prize,
Falling upon his lute; O fit to have

(That lived so sweetly) dead, so sweet a grave!

That nightingales have often been entranced through the effect of instrumental musick, appears from Bourdelot's Histoire de la Musique.' Nothing is more common (he observes) than to see the nightingales, at particular seasons, assemble in a wood, when they hear the sound of certain instruments, or of a fine voice, which they endeavour to answer by their warblings, with such violent efforts, that I have (he continues) beheld some of them fall, as if entranced, at the feet of a person who possessed what is called a 'nightingale throat,' to express the flexibility of a fine voice. Bourdelot adds, that, frequently, both nightingales and linnets perched even on the handles of lutes, guitars, and other instruments, with which it was usual for persons, about a century since, to amuse themselves at the Tuileries, in Paris, in the month of May'.

That beautiful little bird, the wryneck (jynx torquilla) makes its appearance about the middle of the month, preceding the cuckoo by a few days. The well-known cry of the cuculus canorus is heard soon

yneck, and ceases the latter end of June; short, the old cuckoos being said to quit y about the end of June'.

er summer-birds of passage which arrive , make their appearance in the following ring-ousel (turdus torquatus), the red-start phoenicurus), frequenting old walls and lifices, the yellow wren (motacilla trochiswift; the white-throat (motacilla sylva); opper lark (alauda trivialis), the smallest kind; and, lastly, the willow wren, which hedges and shrubberies, and feeds on inearch of which it is continually running up small branches of trees. The house-wren many pernicious insects. That most elebird, the yellow wren, is only noticed by enters and lovers of the country; it is a more binger of spring than any other of the migra; it animates the woods by its constant mo1 the frequent repetition of its simple note a cheerful and varied modulation, that renery pleasing. Its arrival is commonly reguhe season; but early in April, if the weather mild, the little groves resound with its harThe stone-curlew, or great plover, arrives is time.-For some observations on the sleep see our last volume, p. 121.

rocess of vegetation is general and rapid in th.

koo is a gentle bird, and gentle is his note,

ril it is pleasant, while the sun is waxing hot;

1 the green woods growing, and the fresh flowers' blooming throng,

mes the gentle Cuckoo with his meek and modest song.

dcock comes, and with the swan brings winter on his wing, ves cast off their garments green, the small birds cease to sing; id birds cease to sing till the lilies scent the earth, Cuckoo scatters roses round whenever he goes forth.

LINES written on a DYING ASH.

[By the late Countess of Buckinghamshire.] Dear, friendly ash! who long hast stood Companion of unsocial care!

Best loved, of all the tufted wood,

No more your verdant charms you wear.
Ah! must thou perish, beauteous tree!
Emblem of life's uncertainty!

Oft on thy bark, with sylvan pen,

The lover graved his amorous thought;

Oft from the gay resort of men

Thy spreading boughs affliction sought;
And pensive oft to seek thy shade
Perchance the falling poet strayed.

But now, or parched by sultry suns,

Or some rude blast's pernicious breath,

How fast thy vital moisture runs

And wets the saddened turf beneath!
Untimely falls thy leafy pride
Adown the mountain's craggy side.
Yet do not droop! reviving Spring
Thy former health may still renew;
Mild ev'ning softer gales may bring,
And wash thy wounds with tears of dew:
Not so thy lot, frail man! may be;

the eye a most agreeable, spectacle, parn those counties which abound with or

ch (fagus sylvatica) and the larch (pinus) are now in full leaf. The larch, also, ex-. ed tufts or flowers, which soon expand into 1 the fir tribe show their cones also. The vhich so many millions have been planted. ke of Athol (see our last volume, p. 125), ately applied to the purpose of ship-buildy fine frigate having been constructed of he timber reared by his Grace, and lately at Woolwich Dock Yard. Of this trial, eaks favourably, and it is considered that will, in time, supersede the use of the Nor

،

nagnificent and beautiful tree, the horsehippocastanum), now displays its honours een leaves and its handsome spikes pyrawhite and red flowers. It is quite the glory trees. The common laurel is in flower. and lovely are the flowers which are showprofusion, from the lap of April: among y be named the jonquil, anemoné, ranunlyanthus, and the crown imperial. Other which adorn our fields, at this time, are that I favourite the violet', the checquered daffo

ong years have passed, pale flowers, since you
Were culled and given in brightest bloom,
By one whose eye eclipsed your blue,
Whose breath was like your own perfume.

Long years! but, though your bloom be gone,
The fragrance which your freshness shed
Survives, as memory lingers on

When all that blest its birth have fled.

Thus bues and hopes will pass away

Thus youth, and bloom, and bliss, depart;

On! what is left when these decay ?
The faded leaf, the withered heart!

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