“How all things listen while thy muse complains, Such silence waits on Philomela’s strains, In some still evening, when the whispering breeze Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees.” POPE. “There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream, And the Nightingale sings round it all the year long; In the days of my childhood, ’t was like a sweet dream To sit in the roses, and hear the bird’s song. “That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think, Is the Nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?” MOORE. [Illustration: THE BLACK-CAP, (_Curruca atricapilla_,)] IS a very small warbler, not weighing above half-an-ounce. The top of the head is black, whence he takes his name; the neck ash-coloured, the back an ashy-brown, the wings of a dusky colour, the tail nearly the same; the nether part of the neck, throat, and upper part of the breast of a pale ash colour; the lower part of the belly white. The Black-cap visits us about the middle of April, and retires in September; it frequents gardens, and builds its nest near the ground. The female lays five eggs of a pale reddish-brown, sprinkled with spots of a darker colour. This bird sings sweetly, and so like the nightingale, that in Norfolk it is called the mock nightingale. White observes, that it has usually a full, sweet, deep, loud, and wild pipe, yet the strain is of short continuance, and its motions desultory; but when it sits calmly, and earnestly engages in song, it pours forth very sweet but inward melody; and expresses a great variety of modulations, superior perhaps to any of our warblers, the nightingale excepted. While it sings, its throat is greatly distended. [Illustration: THE WREN. (_Troglodytes vulgaris._)] “Fast by my couch, congenial guest, The Wren has wove her mossy nest; From busy scenes and brighter skies To lurk with innocence she flies; Her hopes in safe repose to dwell, Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell.” T. WARTON.