When night o'erspreads each hill and dale
Beneath its darksome wing
Are heard thy sweet and mellow notes
Through the lone midnight ring;
And if a pang within thy breast
Should cause thy heart to bleed,
Thou wilt not hush until the dawn
Shall drive thee from the mead.

* * * * *

Altho' thy heart beneath the pang
Should falter in its throes
Thou wilt not grieve thy nestlings young,
Thy song thou wilt not close.
When all the chorus of the bush
By night and sleep are still,
Thou then dost chant thy merriest lays,
And heaven with music fill.



THE FLOWERS OF SPRING.


BY THE REV. J. EMLYN JONES, M.A., LL.D.

[The Rev. John Emlyn Jones, M.A., LL.D., the lamented author of the
beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation is made, was an