Awake, O, breeze! and bear my song
To that fair seraph bright;
Tell her that love awaits her steps
In the bower of moonlight.

Then welcome be thy silent hours,
Thy moon and thy starlight;-
Thy deep repose, thy bowers of bliss-
Thrice welcome gentle night!

For an account of the Mocking-bird, see note (41), page 373; but it may be stated here, in regard to its song, that during the day its chief notes consist of the imitations of the songs of its neighbours; at night its song is more peculiarly its own.

END OF THE SECOND PART.

THE VALLEY OF NIGHTINGALES.

A SCENE

Near the Hotwells, Bristol.

"Then, said I, master, pleasant is this place,
And sweet are those melodious notes I hear;
And happy they, among man's toiling race,
Who, of their cares forgetful, wander near."

BOWLES.

[To those who might not happen to know St. VINCENT'S ROCKS, CLIFTON, and the very beautiful scenery near the HOTWELLS, BRISTOL, it might be desirable to state that the river Avon winds here through a sinuous defile, on one side of which the Rocks rise perpendicularly in a bold yet irregular manner to the height of many hundred feet; the opposite side is not so bold, but it is, nevertheless, extremely beautiful, being clothed, in many places, with wood, and has, besides, a VALLEY through which you may ascend to Leigh Down. This valley'.. been named the Valley of Nightingales, no doubt, in conseq of those birds making it their resort.

"Where foliag'd full in vernal pride,

Retiring winds thy favourite vale;
And faint the moan of Avon's tide

Remurmurs to the nightingale."

C. A. ELTON, Poems, Disappointment. In a note Mr. ELTON informs us that this stanza alludes to the "Valley of Nightingales opposite St. Vincent's Rocks at Clifton." The lovers of the picturesque will here find ample gratification. If, in the following poem, the truth in Natural History be a little exceeded in reference to a troop of nightingales, it is hoped that the poetical licence will be pardoned. The vicinity of the Hotwells has been lately much improved by a carriage drive beneath and around these rocks.]

THE VALLEY OF NIGHTINGALES.

SEEST thou yon tall Rocks, where, 'midst sunny light beaming,

They lift up their heads and look proudly around;While numerous Choughs, with their cries shrill and screaming,

Wheel from crag unto crag, and now oe'r the profound?

Seëst thou yonder VALLEY where gushes the fountain; Where the Nightingales nestling harmoniously sing; Where the Mavis and Merle, and the merry Lark mounting,

In notes of wild music, now welcome the spring?

Seëst thou yonder shade where the woodbine ascending,

Encircles the hawthorn with amorous twine,

With the bryony scandent in gracefulness blending; What sweet mingled odours-scarce less than divine !

Hearest thou the blue Ring-Dove in yonder tree cooing; The Red-breast-the Hedge-Sparrow, warble their

song;

The Cuckoo, with sameness of note ever wooing;
Yet ever to pleasure such notes will belong?

And this is THE VALLEY OF NIGHTINGALES;-listenTo those full swelling sounds-with those pauses

between ;

Where the bright waving shrubs 'midst the pale hazels glisten,

There oft may a troop of the songsters be seen.

Seëst thou yon proud SHIP on the stream adown sailing, O'er ocean her course to strange climes she now

bends;

Oh! who may describe the deep sobs or heart wailing, Her departure hath wrought amongst lovers and

friends?

The rocks now re-echo the songs of the sailor,

As he chearfully bounds on his watery way;

But the MAIDEN !-ah what shall that echo avail her, When absence and sorrow have worn out the day?

Behold her all breathless, still gazing, pursuing,
And waving at times, with her white hand, adieu;
On the rock now she sits, with fix'd eye the ship viewing,
No picture of fancy-but often too true!