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POii Tia A kind triend has favoured us with the following ele- gant translation of the address To the Nightingale," from the French of J)e Lamartine. He informs liS that it is by the accomplished translator of The Druids," who wrote the present translation for a friend, and finished it in little more than hour. Ve Lamartine's idea of the sightingale, that it embodies in its voice all that is beau- triul in [ho sounds of nature, is exquisite. TO TH" NIG!!TL\G.\L;\ Prúm the French of De Laitiariiie. I Whene'er thy voice in tearful mood, To silence lulls the midnight air, Sweet-winged Bard of Solitude, Thcu kaowest not thct I am there. 2 Thou knowest not that every note Tbat steals along the grove, I hear, Th.it every strain thon g:iv'st tL) finat, In rapture steeps my charmed car! oJ Thou knowst not, that my lips refuse To let my imprison'd breath depart, What time, the ieafies* path I chooe, Lest rustling steps should make thee start; 4 And that another Bard, whose song Is shielded less from vulgar gaze, Roaming the daiksome wood along, Admiring, oft repeats thy lays. 5 But if the star, n'er mountains side, To hear thy liquid strains should steal, From branch to branch tbou fliest to hide The form her glittering rays reveal. G And if the tiny rills, which toss Their waves 'gainst some projecting root, fret angrily beneath the inoss, Thy song is hush'd, thy voice is mute! 7 Alas! thy notes, sublimely sweet, Too pure for these low scenes arise; rI hat voice for other worlds is meet. Thy home is in thy kindred skies! 8 Thy warbled straiis-thv murmur'd song, In all thy meJody appears, liie sweetest nature's sountis among 1 lie v.hisper'd sighs of rolling spheres. 9 Thy voice, (its power unknown to thee) tsthe voice oi Heaven's azure deep, Of the moaning cave, of the waviug tree, Oi the valleys that in the shadows sleep. 10 J.'iose sounds are thine, which please thsc most ia the restless ocean's mighty noise, l-e whispering of the leafy host, Thc distant echo's dying voice 11 In walcrs, drop by drop, that fall On the rocky fountain's crystal breast, Which wells beneath some cavern'd hall, Whose wrinkled surface kno"s uo rest- 12 The rustling leaves soft wail conspires To harmonise thy plaintive muse, Til, a that on the sand expires, The music of the falling dews! 13 And of these sounds. in which are heard The heavenly tones which form thy lays, God made thv voice, thou favour'd bird; To nljht thou pour'st thy warbled praise. 14 For ah! these scenes of soft delight, Thi'sc pious mysteries of eve, The flowers that "bend their urns at night, As the urns their holy incense give- 15 The leaf where shines the dewy tear, I The odours of the forest tree, All nature is too passing fair To have no voice of melody! 15 Ant. that rich voice of mystic pow'r, 'VI¡¡ch listening angels hear with me, ihat sighing of the midnight hour, iMeiodious warbler, bursts from thee! 17 01, mix thy melting notes with mine, The same eardrink* our offcr'd songs; that unearthly prayer of thine 10 brighter, purer worlds belongs. Thir.c is the voice of a soul whose reign "t ek innocence with love unites, Ti,, the celestial strain, H. Ly!'nll ,hat floats through summer nights v y 19 !a my V0lce.> charm appears, tn signs it quits my throbbing breast. sounds are fraught with tears, iiioans oi anguish never rest! H. A. R.

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