BIRDS-SEA BIRD.
The robin redbreast till of late had rest, And children sacred held a martin's nest, a. Pope—Second Book of Horace.
Satire II. L. 37.
You have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin redbreast.
ft. Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act II.
8c. 1. L. 16.
Whither away, Robin,
Whither away ?
Is it through envy of the maple leaf,
Whose blushes mock the crimson of thy breast,
Thou wilt n >t stay ?
The summer days now long, yet all too brief The happy season thou hast been our guest:
Whither away ?
c. E. C. Stedman—The Flight of the Birds.
The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky.
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted Man
His annual visit.
d. Thomson—The Seasom. Winter.
L. 24«.
Call for the robin-red-breast, and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
e. John Webster—The White Devil, or,
Vittoria C'orombona. A Dirge.
Each morning, when my waking eyes first
see, Through the wreathed lattice, golden day
appear,
There sits a robin on the old elm-tree,
And with such stirring music fills my ear,
I might forget that life had pain or fear,
And feel again as I was wont to do.
When hope was young, and life itself were
new.
/. Anna Maria Wells— The Old Elm
Tree.
Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,
Our little English Robin ;
The bird that comes about our doors
When autumn winds are sobbing?
g. Wordsworth—The Redbreast Chasing
the Butterfly.
Now when the primrose makes a splendid
show,
And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one
desire
Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire,
Poor Robin is yet flowcrless ; but how gay
With his red stalks upon this sunny day !
h. Wordsworth—Poor Robin.
Stay, little cheerful Robin ! stay,
And at my casement sing,
Though it should prove a farewell lay
And this our parting spring.
»»**» Then, little Bird, this boon confer,
Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger
Of everlasting spring.
t. Wordsworth—To a Redbreast.
In. Sickness.
Book.
Those Rooks, dear, from morning till night They seem to do nothing but quarrel and
fight,
And wrangle and jangle, and plunder.
j. D. M. Mulock— Thirty Years. The
Blackbird and the Rookt.
The building rook'll caw from the windy
tall elm-tree. k. Tennyson—The May Queen. New
Year's Eve. St. 5.
Invite the rook who high amid the boughs,
In early spring, his airy city builda,
And ceaseless caws amusive.
1. Thomson—The Seasons. Spring.
' L. 756.
Where in venerable rows
Widely waving oaks enclose
The moat of yonder antique hall,
Swarm the rooks with clamorous call;
And, to the toils of nature true,
Wreath their capacious nests anew.
Hi. Warton—Ode 10.
Sand-Piper.
Across the narrow beach we flit,
One little sand-piper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit,
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry. The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sand-piper and I.
n. Celia Thaxter—The Sand-Piper.
Sea Bird.
How joyously the young sea-mew
Lay dreaming on the waters blue,
Whereon our little bark had thrown
A little shade, the only one ;
But shadows ever man pursue,
o. E. B. Browning—The Sea-3few.
Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
p. Bryant—To a Water Fowl.
BIRDS-SEA BIRD.
BIRDS-SWALLOW.
57
Up and down! Up and down !
From the base of the wave to the billow's
crown;
And amidst the flashing and feathery foam
The Stormy Petrel finds a home,—
A home, if such a place may be,
For her who lives on the wide, wide sea,
On the craggy ice, in the frozen air,
And only seeketh her rocky lair
To warm her young and to teach them spring
At once o'er the waves 011 their stormy wing!
a. Barry Cornwall—The Stormy Petrel.
Between two seas the sea-bird's wing makes
halt.
Wind-weary ; while with lifting head he waits For breath to reinspire him from the gates That open still toward sunrise on the vault High-domed of morning.
b. Swixbuhxe—Songs of the Spring Tides.
Introductory lines to Birthday Ode to Victor Hngo.
Sedge-Bird.
Fixed in a white-thorn bush, its summer guest,
So low, e'en grass o'er-topped its tallest twig,
A sedge-bird built its little bcnty nest,
Close by the meadow pool and wooden brig.
c. Clark—The Rural Muse. Poems. Tlie
Sedge-Bird's Nest.
Sparrow.
Blithe wanderer of the wintry air,
Now here, now there, now everywhere,
Quick drifting to and fro,
A cheerful life devoid of care,
A shadow on the snow.
d. George W. Bungay—TVie English
Sparrow.
Tell me not of joy : there's none
Now my little sparrow's gone;
He, just as you,
Would toy and woo,
He would chirp and flatter me,
He would hang the wing awhile,
Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be!
e. Wm. Cartwright—Lesbia and the
Sparrow.
The sparrows chirped as if they still were
proud
Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be.
/. Longfellow—Tale* of a Wayside Inn.
The Poefs Tale. The Birds of
Killingworth. St. 2.
And in thy own sermon, thou
That the sparrow falls dost allow.
It shall not cause me any alarm;
For neither so comes the bird to harm,
Seeing our Father, thou hast said,
Is by the sparrow's dying bed;
Therefore it is a blessed place.
And the sparrow in high grace.
g. George Macdonald—Paul Faber.
Consider the Ravens. Ch. XXI.
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,
That it had it head bit off by it young.
h. King Lear. Act I. Sc. 4. Line 235.
Behold, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid !
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.
i. Wordsworth—The Sparrow's Ifest.
Swallow.
Down comes rain drop, bubble follows;
On the house-top one by one Flock the synagogue of swallows,
Met to vote that autumn's gone.
j. Theophile Gautier—Life, a Bubble.
A Bird's-Eye View Thereof.
But, as old Swedish legends say,
Of all the birds upon that day,
The swallow felt the deepest grief,
And longed to give her Lord relief,
And"chirped when any near would come,
' Hugswala swala swal honom !'
Meaning, as they who tell it deem,
Oh, cool, oh, cool and comfort Him 1
*. Leland— The Swallow.
The swallow is come!
The swallow is come! 0, fair are the seasons, and light
Are the days that she brings,
With her dusky wings,
And her bosom snowy white!
/. Longfellow—Hyperion. Bk. II.
Ch. 1.
It's surely summer, for there's a swallow :
Come one swallow, his mate will follow,
The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken,
m. Christina G. Robsetti—A Bird Song.
St. 2.
There goes the swallow,—
Could we but follow !
Hasty swallow, stay,
Point us out the way ;
Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop
swallow. n. Christina G. Rossetti—Songs in a
Cornfield. St. 7.
Now to the Goths as swift as swallow flies. o. Titus Andronicus. Act IV. Sc. 2.
L. 172.
The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship. p. Timon of Athens. Act III. Sc. 6.
L. 31.
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's
winga; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures
kings. q. Richard III. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 28. BIRDS-SWALLOW.
BIRDS—THRUSH.
The swallow twitters about the eaves;
Blithely she sings, and sweet, and clear; Around her climb the woodbine leaves
In a golden atmosphere.
a. Celia Thaxteb— The Swallow. St. 1.
The swallow sweeps
The slimy pool, to build his hanging house, ft. THOMSON-1- The Seasons. Spring.
L. 651.
When autumn scatters his departing gleams,
Warn'd of approaching winter, gather'd, play
The swallow-people; and toss'd wide around,
O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift,
The feather'd eddy floats ; rejoicing once,
Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire.
c. Thomson—Seasons. Autumn. L. 836.
Swan.
The jelous swan, agens hire deth that syngith.
d. Chauceh—Parlement of Fowles.
L. 342.
And over the pond are sailing
Two swans all white as snow ; Sweet voices mysteriously wailing
Pierce through me as onward they go.
They sail along, and a ringing
Sweet melody rises on high;
And when the swans begin singing,
They presently must die.
«. Heine—Early Poems. Evening Songs.
No. 2. The swan in the pool is singing,
And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever,
Dips under the water clear.
/. Heine—Book of Songs. Lyrical
Interlude. No. 64.
The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood. g. Heine—Early Poems. Evening Sony*.
No. 3.
The swan murmurs sweet strains with a faltering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
h. Mahtial—Epigrams. Bk. XIII.
Ep. LXXVII.
The swan, with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly,
rows Her state with oary feet.
t. Milton—Parrulise last. Bk. VII.
L. 438.
Thus does the white swan, as he lies on the
wet grass, when the Fates summon him, sing at the fords of
Mcennder. j. Ovid—Kp. VII. Riley's trans.
As I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching
waves. k. Henry VI. Pt. III. Act I. Sc.4.
L. 19.
For all the water in the ocean.
Can never turn the swan's blacklegs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
I. Titus Andrcmicus. Act IV. Sc. 2.
L. 101.
The swan's down-feather. That stands upon the swell at full of tide, And neither way inclines. m. Antony and Cleopatra. Act III. Sc. 2.
L. 48.
A melody loud and sweet That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud. n. Tennyson—The Poet's Song.
The stately-sailing swan Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale; And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier isle. Protective of his young. o. Thomson—The Seasons. Spring.
L. TJ5. Throstle.
In the gloamin' o' the wood The throssil whusslit sweet. p. Wm. Mothkbwkll—Jeanie Morrison.
The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill. q. Midsummer Night's Dream. Act III.
Sc. 1. L. 130.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher: Gome forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
r. Wobdswortii—The Tallies Turned.
Thrush.
Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush
That overhung a molehill large and round, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns of rupture, while I drank the
sound With joy—and oft an unintruding guest,
I watch'd her secret toils from day to day; How true she warp'd the moss to form her nest,
And modell'd it within with wood and clay.
.<. Clare— The Thrush's Nest.
Across the noisy street
I hear him careless throw
One warning utterance sweet;
Then faint at first, and low,
The full notes closer grow ;
Hark what a torrent gush ! They pour, they overflow— Sing on, sing on, 0 thrush !
t. Austin Dobson—Ballad of the Thrush.
BIRDS-THRUSH.
BIRTHDAY.
O thrush, your song is passing sweet,
But never a song that you have sung
Is half so sweet as thrushes sang
When my dear love and I were young,
a. Wm. Morris—Other Days.
I said to the brown, brown thrush :
"Hush—hush!
Through the wood's full strains I hear
Thy monotone deep and clear,
Like a sound amid sounds most fine."
b. D. M. MClock—A Rhyme About Birds.
There the thrushes Sing till latest sunlight flushes In the west.
c. Christina G. Rossetti—Somid Sleep.
St. 2.
Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Meet the moon upon the lea; Are the emeralds of the spring
On the angler's try sting-tree ?
Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me,
Are there buds on our willow-tree?
Buds and birds on our trysting-tree?
d. Thomas Tod Stoddart—The Angler's
Trysting- Tree.
When rosy plumelets tuft the Inrch, And rarely pipes the mounted thrush. «. Tennyson—In Memoriam. Pt. XCI.
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight
appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung
for three years.
f. Wordsworth—Reverie of Poor Susan.
Whip-poor-wilL
Where deep and misty shadows float
In forest's depths is heard thy note.
Like a lost spirit, earthbound still,
Art thou, mysterious whip-poor-will.
g. Marie Le Baron— The WJiip-Poor-
Will.
But the whip-poor-will wails on the moor,
And day has deserted the west: The moon glimmers down thro' the vines at
my door And the robin has flown to her nest.
h. James G. Clarke— The Wood-Robin.
The moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside ; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm ; the dreary hooting of the screechowl.
i. Irving—Sketch Book. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.
White-Throat.
The happy white-throat on the swaying bough, Rocked by the impulse of the gadding wind That ushers in the showers of April, now Carols right joyously ; and now reclined, Crouching, she clings close to her moving
seat,
To keep her hold.
j. Clare—The Rural Muse. Poems.
The Happy Bird.
Wren.
But then as little wrens, but newly fledge, First by their nests hop up and down the
hedge;
Then one from bough to bough gets up a tree. t. Browne—Britannia'> Pastorals. Bk. 1.
8c. 4.
And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce. /. Chaucer—Oonrt of Love. L. 1372.
I took the wren's nest;—
Heaven forgive me!
Its merry architects so small
Had scarcely finished their wee hall,
That, empty still, and neat and fair,
Hung idly in the summer air.
m. D. M. Mulock— The Wren's Neit.
For the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. n. Macbeth. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 9.
Thus the fable tells us, that the wren mounted as high as the eagle, by getting upon his back. 0. Tatter. No. 224.
Among the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care, Is none that with the little wren's
In snugness may compare.
p. Wordsworth—A Wren's Nest.
Yellow-Bird.
Yellow-bird, where did you learn that song, Perched on the trellis where grape-vines
clamber,
In and out fluttering, all day long,
With your golden breast bedropped with
amber ?
q. Celia Thaxter— Yellow-Bird.
BIRTHDAY.
My birthday !—" How many years ago?
Twenty or thirty ? " Don't ask me! " Forty or fifty?"—How can I tell?
I do not remember my birth, you see!
r. Julia C. K. Dobe—My Birthday.
«0
BIRTHDAY.
BLESSINGS.
A birthday :—and now a day that rose
With much of hope, with meaning rife—
A thoughtful day from dawn to close :
The middle day of human life.
a. Jean Ingelow—A Birthday Walt.
And show me your nest with the young ones
in it,
I will not steal them away ; I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet— I am seven times one to-day. l>. Jean Ingelow—Songs of Sci-en.
i&vcH Times One.
As this auspicious day began the race
Of ev'ry virtue join'd with ev'ry grace ;
May you, who own them, welcome its return,
Till excellence, like yours, again is born.
The years we wish, will half your charms
impair;
The years we wish, the better half will spare; The victims of your eyes will bleed no more, But all the beauties of your mind adore.
c. Jeffeey—Miscellanies. To a Lady on
her Birthday.
This is my birthday, and a happier one was never mine.
d. Longfellow— The Divine Tragedy:
The Second Passover. Pt. II.
Believing hear, what you deserve to hear:
Your birthday as my own to me is dear.
Blest and distinguish'd days! which we
should prize
The first, the kindest bounty of the skies.
But yours gives most; for mine did only lend
Me to the world ; yours gave to me a friend.
e. Martial—Epigram*. Bk. IX. Ep.53.
My birthday !—what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears ;
And how each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears.
/. Moore—My Birthday.
Is that a birthday ? 'tis, alas! too clear ;
'Tis but the funeral of the former year.
g. Pope—To Mrs. M. B. L. 9.
BL ACKSMITHING (See Occupations).
BLASPHEMY.
And each blasphemer quite escape the rod.
Because the insult's not on man, but God ?
A. Pope—Epilogue to Satires. Dialogue II.
L. 199.
That in the captain's but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. i. Measure for Measure. Act II. Sc. 2.
L. 130.
BLESSINGS.
'Tis not for mortals always to be blest, j. Armstrong—Art of Preserving Health. Bk. IV. L. 260.
Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament;
Adversity is the blessing of the New.
k. Bacon—Of Adversity.
Blessings star forth forever ; but a curse
Is like a cloud—it passes.
1. Bailey—Festus. Sc. Hades.
Blest Is he whose heart is the home of the great
dead,
And their great thoughts.
in. Bailey—Festus. Sc. A Village Feast.
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I bless'd them unaware.
n. Coleridge— The Ancient Mariner.
Pt. IV.
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
o. Coxgheve—The Mourning Bride.
ActV. Sc. 3.
Bless the hand that gave the blow. p. Dryden— The Spanish Friar. Act II.
Sc. 1.
To heal divisions, to relieve the oppress'd,
In virtue rich ; in blessing others, bless'd.
q. Homer—Odyssey. Bk. VII. L.96.
Pope's trans.
A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet, r. Rich. Monckton Milkkb— The Men of
Old. St. 7.
The blest to-day is as completely so, As who began a thousand years ago. j. Pope—Essay on Man. Ep. I. L. 75.
Jove bless thee, master Parson.
t. Twelfth Night. Act IV. 8c. 2. L. 14.
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew !
«. CymbeKne. Act V. So. 5. L. 350.
Amid my list of blessings infinite,
Stands this the foremost, "That my heart
has bled."
v. Young— Night Thoughts. Night IX.
L. 497.
Like birds, whose beauties languish half concealed, Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy
plumes
Expanded, shine with azure, green and gold ; How blessings brighten as they take their
flight. «>. Young—Night Thoughts. Night II.
L. 589.
Showing posts with label Quotations on Birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Quotations on Birds. Show all posts
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Quotations on Birds
BIRDS-FALCON.
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed—and cooed;
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
-Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the song,—the song for me!
a. Wordsworth—0 Nightingale ! Thou
Surely Art.
Eagle.
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quivered in his
heart.
b. JSfsos—English Sards and Scotch
Reviewers. L. 826.
Tho' he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion
Thro" the azure deep of air,
c. Gray—The Progress of Poesy.
King of the peak and glacier,
King of the cold, white scalps,
He lifts his head at that close tread,
The eagle of the Alps.
d. Victor Hugo—The Swiss Mercenaries.
The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.
e. Milton—Paradise Lost. Bk. XI.
L. 184.
Bird of the broad and sweeping wing,
Thy home is high in heaven,
Where wide the storms their banners fling,
And the tempest clouds are driven.
/. Percival— To the Eagle.
So, in the Libyan fable it is told
That once an eagle, stricken with a dart.
Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft,
"Withourown feathers, not by others'hands,
Are we now smitten."
g. Ed. H. Plumpthes—.Eschyliu.
Fragm. 123.
And little eagles wave their wings in gold.
A. Pope—Moral Essays. Ep. to Addison.
L. 30.
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no track behind.
t. Timon of Athens. Act I. So, 1.
L. 49.
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spungy south to this part of the
west, .
There vanish'd in the sunbeams.
j. Cymbeline. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 348.
The eagle suffers little birds to sing.
And is not careful what they mean thereby.
k. Titus Andronicus. Act IV. Sc. 4.
L. 83.
Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheeling With clangs of wings and scream, the Eagle
sailed Incessantly.
I. Shelley—Revolt of Islam. Canto I.
St. 10.
He clasps the crag with hooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls:
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls,
m. Tennyson—The Eagle.
Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens?
If all the world were falcons, what of that?
The wonder of the eagle were the less,
But he not less the eagle,
n. Tennyson— The Golden Year. L. 37.
Estridge.
Prince Edward all in gold, as he great Jove
had been, The Mountfords all in plumes, like estridges
were seen. o. VKAVTon—Poly-Olbion. St. 22.
All furnish'd, all in arms; All plum'd, like estridges that with the wind Baited, like eagles having lately bath'd. p. Henry IV. Pt. I. Act IV. Sc. 1.
L. 97.
Falcon.
The falcon and the dove sit there together, And th' one of them doth prune the other's
feather. q. Drayton—Noah's Flood.
I know a falcon swift and peerless
As e'er was cradled in the pine; No bird had ever eye so fearless,
Or wing so strong as this of mine.
r. Lowell—The Falcon.
Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the
dove?
Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings? *. Pope—Essay on Man. Ep. III. L. 53. BIRDS—FA"LCON.
BIRDS—HUMMING-BIRD. 47
A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.
a. Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 4. L. 12.
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty ; And till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd, For then she never looks upon her lure.
b. Taming of the Shrew. Act IV. Sc. 1.
L. 193.
So, when a falcon skims the airy way,
Stoops from the clouds, and pounces on his
prey,
Daah'd on the earth the feather.'d victim lies, Expands its feeble wings, and, flutt'ring, dies.
c. P. Whitehead— The Gymnasiad.
Bk. III.
Fowl, Wild.
The wildfowl nestled in the brake
And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed.
d. Byeon—Don Juan. Canto XIII.
St. 57.
Goldfinch.
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,
Lived happy prisoners there.
e. Cowpeb—Faithful Bird.
A goldfinch there I saw, with gawdy pride
Of painted plumes, that hopped from side to
side.
/. Dryden—The Flower and the Leaf.
L. 106.
Goose.
I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear ;
Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring,
So screams a goose where swans melodious
g. Beattie—Virgil. Pastoral 9.
Shall I, like Curtius, desperate in my zeal, O'er head and ears plunge for the common
weal? Or rob Rome's ancient geese of all their
glories,
And cackling save the monarchy of Tories?
A. Pope—Ihmciad. Bk. I. L. 209.
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
Or russetr-pated choughs, many in sort.
Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky,
i. Midsummer Night's Dream. Act III.
Sc. 2. L. 20.
Gull, Sea.
Lack-lustre eye, and idle wing,
And smirched breast that skims no more,
White as the foam itself, the wave—
Hast thou not even a grave
Upon the dreary shore,
Forlorn, forsaken thing ?
j. D. M. Mdlock—A Dead Sea-Chill.
And being fed by us you used us so
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,
Useth the sparrow.
k. Henry IV. Pt. I. ActV. Sc. I.
L.59.
Hawk.
The winds are pillow'd on the waveless deep, And from the curtain'd sky the midnight
moon Looks sombred o'er the forest depths, that
sleep
Unstirring, while a soft, melodious tune, Nature's own voice, the lapsing stream, is
heard,
And ever and anon th'unseen, night-wandering bird. 1. Moik— The Night Hawk.
Between two hawks, which flies the higher
pitch. To. Henry VI. Pt. I. Act II. 8c.4.
L. 11.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks
will soar
Above the morning lark. n. Taming of the Shrew. Induction. Sc. 2.
L.45.
I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
o. Hamlet. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 395.
No marvel, an it like your majesty,
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
They know their master loves to be aloft
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's
pitch.
p. Henry VI. Pt. II. Act II. Sc. 1.
L. 9.
When I bestride him I soar, I am a hawk. q. Henry V. Act III. Sc. 7. L. 14.
The wild hawk stood with the down on his
beak
And stared with his foot on the prey. r. Tbnnyson— The Poet's Song.
Humming-bird.
And the humming-bird that hung
Like a jewel up among
The tilted honeysuckle horns
They mesmerized and swung
In the palpitating air,
Drowsed with odors strange and rare, And, with whispered laughter, slipped away
And left him hanging there.
». James Whitcomb Riley—The South
Wind and the Sun, 48
BIRDS—JACKDAW.
BIRDS—LARK.
Jackdaw.
The Jackdaw sat in the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop and Abbot and Prior were there,
Many a monk and many a friar,
Many a knight and many a squire,
With a great many more of lesser degree,—
In sooth a goodly company ;
And they served the Lord Primate on bended
knee.
Never, I ween,
Was a prouder seen,
Read of in books or dreamt of in dreams,
Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of
Rheims. a. R. H. Barham—Ingold.tby Legends.
The Jackdaw of Rheims.
An old miser kept a tame jackdaw, that used to steal pieces of money, and hide them in a hole, which a cat observing, asked, " Why he would hoard up those round shining things that he could make no use of? " " Why," aaid the jackdaw, "my master has a whole chest- full, and makes no more use of them than I do."
6. Swift—Thoughts on Various Subjects.
Jay.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark, Because his feathers are more beautiful?
c. Taming of the Shrew. Act IV. Sc. 3.
L. 177.
And startle from his ashen spray,
Across the glen, the screaming jay.
d. War-ton— The Hamlet. Ode 2.
Kingfisher.
J can tell you what that bird was—a kingfisher, the celebrated halcyon of the ancients about which so many tales are told. It lives on fish which it catches in the manner you saw. It builds in holes in the banks, is a shy retiring bird, never to be seen far from the stream where it inhabits.
e. John Aiken—Eyes and Eyes.
She rears her young on yonder tree;
She leaves her faithful mate to mind 'em;
Like us, for fish she sails to sea,
And, plunging, shows us where to find 'em.
Yo, ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
While slow the bending net we sweep,
God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher.
/. Alexander Wilson—The Fisherman's
Hymn.
Lapwing.
Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god,
He made the barren waste his lone abode,
And oft on soaring pinions hover'd o'er
The lofty palace then his own no more.
g. Beattie—Virgil. Pastoral 6.
The false lapwynge, full of trecherye.
h. Chaucer—The Parlfment of Fowles.
L. 47.
Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries, i. Goldsmith—Deserted Village. L. 44.
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference. j. Much Ado About Nothing. Act III.
Sc. 1. L. 25.
Lark.
The music soars within the little lark,
And the lark soars.
A. E. B. Browning—Aurora Leigh.
Bk. III. L. 155.
Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.
**»
Thou tells o' never-ending care,
O' speechless grief, and dark despair;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken!
/. Burns—Address to the Woodlark.
Sts. 1 and 4
The merry lark he soars on high,
No worldly thought o'ertakes him.
He sings aloud to the clear blue sky,
And the daylight that awakes him.
?ii. Hartley Coleridge—Song.
The lark now leaves his wntery nest,
And climbing, shakes his dewy wings.
He takes your window for the East
And to implore your light he sings.
ji. Sir William Davenant—The Lark
now Leaves his Watery Nest.
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place— 0, to abide in the desert with thee!
o. Hogg— The Skylark.
Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed. p. Hilrdis—TYie Village Curate. L. 276.
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
q. Lvly— The Songs of Birds.
And now the herald lark
Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry
The morn's approach, and greet her with his
song.
r. Milton—Paradise Regained. Bk. II.
L. 279 BIRDS-LARK.
BIRDS—LARK.
49
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull Night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise.
a. Milton—L'Allegro. L. 41.
The bird that soars on highest wing.
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
In lark and nightingale we see
What honor hath humility.
b. Montgomery—Humility.
I said to the sky-poised Lark :
" Hark—hark!
Thy note is more loud and free
Because there lies safe for thee
A little nest on the ground."
c. D. M. Mulock—A Rhyme About Birds.
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne
sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
d. Pops—Pastoral*. Winter. L. 53.
O earliest singer! 0 care-charming bird !
Married to morning, by a sweeter hymn
Than priest e'er chanted from his cloister dim
At midnight,—or veiled virgin's holier word
At sunrise or the paler evening heard.
" «. Adelaide Procter—The Flood of
Thessaly. O happy skylark springing
Up to the broad, blue sky.
Too fearless in thy winging,
Too gladsome in thy singing,
Thou also soon shall lie
Where no sweet notes are ringing.
/. Christina G. Rossetti—Gone Forever.
St. 2. The sunrise wakes the lark to sing.
g. Christina G. Rossetti—Bird Raptures.
L. 1. Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies.
h. Cymbeline—Act II. Sc. 3. Song.
L. 21.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing
sharps, f. Romeo and Juliet—Act III. Sc. 5.
L. 27.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn. j. Romeo and Jutiet—Act III. Sc. 5.
L. 6.
Lo ! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high.
And wakes the morning, from whose silver
breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty.
k. I'eiiun anil Adimin— L. SSJ.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated.
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir
abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets
strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to
charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
I. Hamlet—Act 1. Sc. 1. L. 158.
Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark
fora bunting. m. Aid Well That Ends Well—Act II.
Sc. 5. L. 5.
Better than all measures
Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures
That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, them scorner of the ground!
71. Shelley—To a Skylark,
Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass. Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
o. Shelley— To a Skylark.
Up springs the lark, Shrill-voiced, and loud, the messenger of
morn;
Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their
haunts
Calls up the'tuneful nations.
p. Thomson— The Seasons. Spring.
L. 587.
The lark sung loud ; the music at his heart Had called him early; upward straight he
went,
And bore in nature's quire the merriest part, As to the lake's broad shore my steps I bent. q. Charles Tennyson Turner—Sonnet. An April Day.
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field. r. Kdhund Waller—Of the Queen.
Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares
abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music
still! s. Wordsworth—Poem* of the
Imagination. To a Skylark. BIRDS—LARK.
BIRDS—NIGHTINGALE.
Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ;
A privacy of glorious light is thine :
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a
flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine:
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam :
True to the kindred points of Heaven and
Home!
a. Wordsworth—Poems of the
Imagination. To a Skylark,
linnet.
Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat? Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note. 6. Pope—Essay on Man. Ep. III. L. 33.
Perch'd on the cedar's topmost bough,
And gay with gilded wings, Perchance the patron of his vow,
Some artless linnet sings.
c. Shenstone—Vakntitie's Day.
I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing.
d. Tennyson—In Memoriam. Pt. XXI.
St. 6.
Linnets * * « sit On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.
e. Thomson—The Seasons. Autumn.
L. 974.
Hail to thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion !
Thou, linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding spirit here to-day.
Dost lead the revels of the May ;
And this is thy dominion.
/. Wordsworth—The Green Linnet.
Martlet.
The martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty. g. Merchant of Venice. Act II. Sc. 9.
L. 28.
This guest of summer.
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's
breath
Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made its pendent bed, and procreant
cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have
observ'd,
The air is delicate.
h. Macbeth. Act I. Sc. 6. L. 3.
Mocking-bird.
Then from the neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water,
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music,
That the whole air and the woods and the
waves seemed silent to listen, t. Lonofbllow—Evangeline. Pt. II.
St. 2.
Living echo, bird of eve.
Hush thy wailing, cease to grieve;
Pretty warbler, wake the grove
To notes of joy, to songs of love.
j. Thomas Morton—Pretty Mocking-Bird.
Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!
Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe ?
Thine ever-ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and jibe :
Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe
Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school;
To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe,
Arch-mocker and mad abbot of misrule!
k. Robert Wilde, D.D.—Sonnet. To
the Mocking-Bird.
Nightingale.
Hark ! ah, the nightingale—
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph ! hark !—what pain !
**** Listen, Eugenia— How thick the bursts come crowding through
the leaves!
Again—thou nearest?
Eternal passion!
Eternal pain!
1. Matthew Arnold—Philomela. L. 32.
For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed,
So poets live upon the living light.
m. Bailey—Fcstus. Sc. Home.
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
.Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
n. ' Richard Bahnfield—Address to the
Nightingale.
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard ;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.
o. Byron—Parisina. St. 1.
" Most musical, most melancholy " bird ! A melancholy bird ! Oh ! idle thought! In nature tliere is nothing melancholy. p. Coleridge—Tlie Nightingale. L. 13.
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed—and cooed;
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
-Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the song,—the song for me!
a. Wordsworth—0 Nightingale ! Thou
Surely Art.
Eagle.
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quivered in his
heart.
b. JSfsos—English Sards and Scotch
Reviewers. L. 826.
Tho' he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion
Thro" the azure deep of air,
c. Gray—The Progress of Poesy.
King of the peak and glacier,
King of the cold, white scalps,
He lifts his head at that close tread,
The eagle of the Alps.
d. Victor Hugo—The Swiss Mercenaries.
The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.
e. Milton—Paradise Lost. Bk. XI.
L. 184.
Bird of the broad and sweeping wing,
Thy home is high in heaven,
Where wide the storms their banners fling,
And the tempest clouds are driven.
/. Percival— To the Eagle.
So, in the Libyan fable it is told
That once an eagle, stricken with a dart.
Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft,
"Withourown feathers, not by others'hands,
Are we now smitten."
g. Ed. H. Plumpthes—.Eschyliu.
Fragm. 123.
And little eagles wave their wings in gold.
A. Pope—Moral Essays. Ep. to Addison.
L. 30.
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no track behind.
t. Timon of Athens. Act I. So, 1.
L. 49.
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spungy south to this part of the
west, .
There vanish'd in the sunbeams.
j. Cymbeline. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 348.
The eagle suffers little birds to sing.
And is not careful what they mean thereby.
k. Titus Andronicus. Act IV. Sc. 4.
L. 83.
Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheeling With clangs of wings and scream, the Eagle
sailed Incessantly.
I. Shelley—Revolt of Islam. Canto I.
St. 10.
He clasps the crag with hooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls:
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls,
m. Tennyson—The Eagle.
Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens?
If all the world were falcons, what of that?
The wonder of the eagle were the less,
But he not less the eagle,
n. Tennyson— The Golden Year. L. 37.
Estridge.
Prince Edward all in gold, as he great Jove
had been, The Mountfords all in plumes, like estridges
were seen. o. VKAVTon—Poly-Olbion. St. 22.
All furnish'd, all in arms; All plum'd, like estridges that with the wind Baited, like eagles having lately bath'd. p. Henry IV. Pt. I. Act IV. Sc. 1.
L. 97.
Falcon.
The falcon and the dove sit there together, And th' one of them doth prune the other's
feather. q. Drayton—Noah's Flood.
I know a falcon swift and peerless
As e'er was cradled in the pine; No bird had ever eye so fearless,
Or wing so strong as this of mine.
r. Lowell—The Falcon.
Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the
dove?
Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings? *. Pope—Essay on Man. Ep. III. L. 53. BIRDS—FA"LCON.
BIRDS—HUMMING-BIRD. 47
A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.
a. Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 4. L. 12.
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty ; And till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd, For then she never looks upon her lure.
b. Taming of the Shrew. Act IV. Sc. 1.
L. 193.
So, when a falcon skims the airy way,
Stoops from the clouds, and pounces on his
prey,
Daah'd on the earth the feather.'d victim lies, Expands its feeble wings, and, flutt'ring, dies.
c. P. Whitehead— The Gymnasiad.
Bk. III.
Fowl, Wild.
The wildfowl nestled in the brake
And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed.
d. Byeon—Don Juan. Canto XIII.
St. 57.
Goldfinch.
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,
Lived happy prisoners there.
e. Cowpeb—Faithful Bird.
A goldfinch there I saw, with gawdy pride
Of painted plumes, that hopped from side to
side.
/. Dryden—The Flower and the Leaf.
L. 106.
Goose.
I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear ;
Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring,
So screams a goose where swans melodious
g. Beattie—Virgil. Pastoral 9.
Shall I, like Curtius, desperate in my zeal, O'er head and ears plunge for the common
weal? Or rob Rome's ancient geese of all their
glories,
And cackling save the monarchy of Tories?
A. Pope—Ihmciad. Bk. I. L. 209.
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
Or russetr-pated choughs, many in sort.
Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky,
i. Midsummer Night's Dream. Act III.
Sc. 2. L. 20.
Gull, Sea.
Lack-lustre eye, and idle wing,
And smirched breast that skims no more,
White as the foam itself, the wave—
Hast thou not even a grave
Upon the dreary shore,
Forlorn, forsaken thing ?
j. D. M. Mdlock—A Dead Sea-Chill.
And being fed by us you used us so
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,
Useth the sparrow.
k. Henry IV. Pt. I. ActV. Sc. I.
L.59.
Hawk.
The winds are pillow'd on the waveless deep, And from the curtain'd sky the midnight
moon Looks sombred o'er the forest depths, that
sleep
Unstirring, while a soft, melodious tune, Nature's own voice, the lapsing stream, is
heard,
And ever and anon th'unseen, night-wandering bird. 1. Moik— The Night Hawk.
Between two hawks, which flies the higher
pitch. To. Henry VI. Pt. I. Act II. 8c.4.
L. 11.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks
will soar
Above the morning lark. n. Taming of the Shrew. Induction. Sc. 2.
L.45.
I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
o. Hamlet. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 395.
No marvel, an it like your majesty,
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
They know their master loves to be aloft
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's
pitch.
p. Henry VI. Pt. II. Act II. Sc. 1.
L. 9.
When I bestride him I soar, I am a hawk. q. Henry V. Act III. Sc. 7. L. 14.
The wild hawk stood with the down on his
beak
And stared with his foot on the prey. r. Tbnnyson— The Poet's Song.
Humming-bird.
And the humming-bird that hung
Like a jewel up among
The tilted honeysuckle horns
They mesmerized and swung
In the palpitating air,
Drowsed with odors strange and rare, And, with whispered laughter, slipped away
And left him hanging there.
». James Whitcomb Riley—The South
Wind and the Sun, 48
BIRDS—JACKDAW.
BIRDS—LARK.
Jackdaw.
The Jackdaw sat in the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop and Abbot and Prior were there,
Many a monk and many a friar,
Many a knight and many a squire,
With a great many more of lesser degree,—
In sooth a goodly company ;
And they served the Lord Primate on bended
knee.
Never, I ween,
Was a prouder seen,
Read of in books or dreamt of in dreams,
Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of
Rheims. a. R. H. Barham—Ingold.tby Legends.
The Jackdaw of Rheims.
An old miser kept a tame jackdaw, that used to steal pieces of money, and hide them in a hole, which a cat observing, asked, " Why he would hoard up those round shining things that he could make no use of? " " Why," aaid the jackdaw, "my master has a whole chest- full, and makes no more use of them than I do."
6. Swift—Thoughts on Various Subjects.
Jay.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark, Because his feathers are more beautiful?
c. Taming of the Shrew. Act IV. Sc. 3.
L. 177.
And startle from his ashen spray,
Across the glen, the screaming jay.
d. War-ton— The Hamlet. Ode 2.
Kingfisher.
J can tell you what that bird was—a kingfisher, the celebrated halcyon of the ancients about which so many tales are told. It lives on fish which it catches in the manner you saw. It builds in holes in the banks, is a shy retiring bird, never to be seen far from the stream where it inhabits.
e. John Aiken—Eyes and Eyes.
She rears her young on yonder tree;
She leaves her faithful mate to mind 'em;
Like us, for fish she sails to sea,
And, plunging, shows us where to find 'em.
Yo, ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
While slow the bending net we sweep,
God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher.
/. Alexander Wilson—The Fisherman's
Hymn.
Lapwing.
Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god,
He made the barren waste his lone abode,
And oft on soaring pinions hover'd o'er
The lofty palace then his own no more.
g. Beattie—Virgil. Pastoral 6.
The false lapwynge, full of trecherye.
h. Chaucer—The Parlfment of Fowles.
L. 47.
Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries, i. Goldsmith—Deserted Village. L. 44.
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference. j. Much Ado About Nothing. Act III.
Sc. 1. L. 25.
Lark.
The music soars within the little lark,
And the lark soars.
A. E. B. Browning—Aurora Leigh.
Bk. III. L. 155.
Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing, fond complaining.
**»
Thou tells o' never-ending care,
O' speechless grief, and dark despair;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken!
/. Burns—Address to the Woodlark.
Sts. 1 and 4
The merry lark he soars on high,
No worldly thought o'ertakes him.
He sings aloud to the clear blue sky,
And the daylight that awakes him.
?ii. Hartley Coleridge—Song.
The lark now leaves his wntery nest,
And climbing, shakes his dewy wings.
He takes your window for the East
And to implore your light he sings.
ji. Sir William Davenant—The Lark
now Leaves his Watery Nest.
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place— 0, to abide in the desert with thee!
o. Hogg— The Skylark.
Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed. p. Hilrdis—TYie Village Curate. L. 276.
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
q. Lvly— The Songs of Birds.
And now the herald lark
Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry
The morn's approach, and greet her with his
song.
r. Milton—Paradise Regained. Bk. II.
L. 279 BIRDS-LARK.
BIRDS—LARK.
49
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull Night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise.
a. Milton—L'Allegro. L. 41.
The bird that soars on highest wing.
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
In lark and nightingale we see
What honor hath humility.
b. Montgomery—Humility.
I said to the sky-poised Lark :
" Hark—hark!
Thy note is more loud and free
Because there lies safe for thee
A little nest on the ground."
c. D. M. Mulock—A Rhyme About Birds.
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne
sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
d. Pops—Pastoral*. Winter. L. 53.
O earliest singer! 0 care-charming bird !
Married to morning, by a sweeter hymn
Than priest e'er chanted from his cloister dim
At midnight,—or veiled virgin's holier word
At sunrise or the paler evening heard.
" «. Adelaide Procter—The Flood of
Thessaly. O happy skylark springing
Up to the broad, blue sky.
Too fearless in thy winging,
Too gladsome in thy singing,
Thou also soon shall lie
Where no sweet notes are ringing.
/. Christina G. Rossetti—Gone Forever.
St. 2. The sunrise wakes the lark to sing.
g. Christina G. Rossetti—Bird Raptures.
L. 1. Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies.
h. Cymbeline—Act II. Sc. 3. Song.
L. 21.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing
sharps, f. Romeo and Juliet—Act III. Sc. 5.
L. 27.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn. j. Romeo and Jutiet—Act III. Sc. 5.
L. 6.
Lo ! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high.
And wakes the morning, from whose silver
breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty.
k. I'eiiun anil Adimin— L. SSJ.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated.
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir
abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets
strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to
charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
I. Hamlet—Act 1. Sc. 1. L. 158.
Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark
fora bunting. m. Aid Well That Ends Well—Act II.
Sc. 5. L. 5.
Better than all measures
Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures
That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, them scorner of the ground!
71. Shelley—To a Skylark,
Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass. Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
o. Shelley— To a Skylark.
Up springs the lark, Shrill-voiced, and loud, the messenger of
morn;
Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their
haunts
Calls up the'tuneful nations.
p. Thomson— The Seasons. Spring.
L. 587.
The lark sung loud ; the music at his heart Had called him early; upward straight he
went,
And bore in nature's quire the merriest part, As to the lake's broad shore my steps I bent. q. Charles Tennyson Turner—Sonnet. An April Day.
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field. r. Kdhund Waller—Of the Queen.
Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares
abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music
still! s. Wordsworth—Poem* of the
Imagination. To a Skylark. BIRDS—LARK.
BIRDS—NIGHTINGALE.
Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ;
A privacy of glorious light is thine :
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a
flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine:
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam :
True to the kindred points of Heaven and
Home!
a. Wordsworth—Poems of the
Imagination. To a Skylark,
linnet.
Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat? Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note. 6. Pope—Essay on Man. Ep. III. L. 33.
Perch'd on the cedar's topmost bough,
And gay with gilded wings, Perchance the patron of his vow,
Some artless linnet sings.
c. Shenstone—Vakntitie's Day.
I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing.
d. Tennyson—In Memoriam. Pt. XXI.
St. 6.
Linnets * * « sit On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.
e. Thomson—The Seasons. Autumn.
L. 974.
Hail to thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion !
Thou, linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding spirit here to-day.
Dost lead the revels of the May ;
And this is thy dominion.
/. Wordsworth—The Green Linnet.
Martlet.
The martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty. g. Merchant of Venice. Act II. Sc. 9.
L. 28.
This guest of summer.
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's
breath
Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made its pendent bed, and procreant
cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have
observ'd,
The air is delicate.
h. Macbeth. Act I. Sc. 6. L. 3.
Mocking-bird.
Then from the neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water,
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music,
That the whole air and the woods and the
waves seemed silent to listen, t. Lonofbllow—Evangeline. Pt. II.
St. 2.
Living echo, bird of eve.
Hush thy wailing, cease to grieve;
Pretty warbler, wake the grove
To notes of joy, to songs of love.
j. Thomas Morton—Pretty Mocking-Bird.
Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!
Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe ?
Thine ever-ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and jibe :
Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe
Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school;
To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe,
Arch-mocker and mad abbot of misrule!
k. Robert Wilde, D.D.—Sonnet. To
the Mocking-Bird.
Nightingale.
Hark ! ah, the nightingale—
The tawny-throated!
Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph ! hark !—what pain !
**** Listen, Eugenia— How thick the bursts come crowding through
the leaves!
Again—thou nearest?
Eternal passion!
Eternal pain!
1. Matthew Arnold—Philomela. L. 32.
For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed,
So poets live upon the living light.
m. Bailey—Fcstus. Sc. Home.
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
.Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
n. ' Richard Bahnfield—Address to the
Nightingale.
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard ;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.
o. Byron—Parisina. St. 1.
" Most musical, most melancholy " bird ! A melancholy bird ! Oh ! idle thought! In nature tliere is nothing melancholy. p. Coleridge—Tlie Nightingale. L. 13.
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