“Hush! Listen to the nightingale! His discourse is better than yours.”
“How absorbed he is in his song, stave after stave; he seems to say, ‘You want more tunes? If that is all, you shall have more.’ Hush!” And they listened to the rich warble, sounding so strange in the midst of the lonely country. “A love-call of three notes, which he repeats before passing into cadenzas. Hush!” The bird started again, and this time as if encouraged by the success of his last efforts.
“What flutings! What trills! What runs! Pearls and jewels scattered. Little tunes of three or four notes, casting a spell about the hillside, followed by passionate cadenzas.”
Another bird answered far away out of the stillness, the same sweet strain it was; and listening, they seemed to hear the same strain within their
