Vedete la quel rusignol che canta Col suo bel canto lamentar si vuole,-- which is not, by the by, his only Miltonic inspiration; there is a rustling of Vallombrosian leaves through the couplet, composed perhaps in Vallombrosia: E quante primavera foglie adorna Che si vaga e gentile a noi ritorna. The Bulgarian sees a mountain _trembling_ to the song of three nightingales. Like his Servian neighbours, he must always have a story, and here is his nightingale story. Marika went into the garden; she passed the pomegranate-tree and the apple-tree, and sat her down under the red rose-tree to embroider a white handkerchief. In the rose-tree was a nightingale, and the nightingale said: "Let us sing, Marika; if you sing better than I, you shall cut off my wings at the shoulders and my feet at the knee; if I sing better than you, I will cut off your hair at the roots." They sang for two days, for three days; Marika sang the best. Then the nightingale pleaded, "Marika, fair young girl, do not cut off my feet, let me keep my wings, for I have three little nightingales to rear, and of one of them I will make you a gift." "Nightingale, sweet singer," said Marika, "I will give thee grace of thy wings, and even of thy feet; go, tend thy little ones, make me a gift of one to lull me to sleep, and of one to awake me." We may take leave of bird-lays with the pretty old Bourbonnaise _chanson_:-- Derrier' chez nous, il y a-t-un vert bocage, Le rossignol y chant' tous les jours; La il y dit en son charmant langage: Les amoreux sont malheureux toujours!