Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Country Life
No cloud no relic of the sunken day, Distinguishes the west; no long, thin slip Of sullen light - no Obscure, trembling hues. Come; we will rest on this old mossy bridge! You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, But hear no murmuring it ?ows Silently O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still A balmy night! And though the stars be dim, Yet, let us think upon the vernal showers That gladden the green earth, and we Shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. And hark! The nightingale begins its song, Most musical, most melancholy bird! A melancholy bird! Oh, idle thought! In nature there is nothing melancholy. 'tis the merry nightingale 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 lone chant, and disburden his full soul Of all its music!
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