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Anon advancing thus the trees between, He saw beside her bower the songstress wild, Not distant far, himself the while unseen. Mooma it was, that happy maiden mild, Who in the sunshine, like a careless child Of nature, in her joy was caroling. A heavier heart than his it had beguiled So to have heard so fair a creature sing The strains which she had learnt from all sweet birds of spring.

For these had been her teachers, these alone; And she in many an emulous essay, At length into a descant of her own Had blended all their notes, a wild display Of sounds in rich irregular array; And now as blithe as bird in vernal bower, Pour'd in full flow the unexpressive lay, Rejoicing in her consciousness of power, But in the inborn sense of harmony yet more.