A NIGHTINGALE in kenSINGTON GARDENS. 169 A NIGHTINGALE IN KENSINGTON THEY GARDENS. HEY paused,—the cripple in the chair, The mother with her lines of care; The many-buttoned page; The noisy, red-cheeked nursery-maid, With straggling train of three ; The Frenchman with his frogs and braid ;— If possible, the small, dusk bird Had poured the joyous chant they heard, So suddenly, but now. And one poor POET stopped and thought How many a lonely lay That bird had sung ere fortune brought It near the common way, |