Suddenly, a bat, whirring through the glade, disappeared in the soft dusk of the trees, then I heard the distant “Tu whit, tu whoo” of an owl, which seemed to break the spell of the night, and awaken the sleeping faeries; for all at once, on every side, I heard a confused murmur, the glow-worms lighted their glimmering lamps on the soft mossy banks, and brilliant fireflies flashed like sparkling stars through the perfumed air. Then a nightingale began to sing; I could not see the bird, but only heard the lovely music gushing from amid the dim gloom of the leaves, filling the whole forest with exquisite strains. I understood the nightingale’s song just as well as I did that of the cricket, but what it sang was much more beautiful. THE NIGHTINGALE’S SONG. The Day has furled Her banners red, And all the world Lies cold and dead; All light and gladness fled. Asleep!—asleep, In slumber deep, Are maid and boy; And grief and joy, And pleasures—pains Are bound—fast bound in slumber’s chains. Ah, slumbers keep The maid who sighs, The boy who cries, The bee that flies, In charmèd sleep. See how the moon shines in the sky Her light so pale, O’er hill and dale; O’er dale and hill, So calm and still, In splendour flinging; And Mother Earth, At her bright birth, Hears me the night-bird singing. ’Tis I! Who in the darkness cry; The nightingale who sings, who sings on high. I call the elves To show themselves; They creep from tree, from grass, from flower; In forest-bower At midnight hour, They dance—they dance, All night so bright—so light; While I the woods with song entrance. Singing—Singing, My voice is ringing Thro’ the still leaves, Till all the dark night heaves With pain—with pain Again—oh, sing again; Bring joy—bring tears, Till o’er the lawn The red, red dawn Appears—appears—appears.