« PreviousContinue »
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty;
LAPWING. And, till she stoop, she must not be full
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs gorg'd, For then she never looks upon her lure.
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. Taming of the Shrew. Act IV. Sc. 1.
j. Much Ado About Nothing. Act III.
Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, b.
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!
k. BURNS- Address to the Woodlark. GOOSE.
Sts. 1 and 4. As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
The lark, that holds observance to the sun, Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
Quaver'd his clear notes in the quiet air, Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky.
And on the river's murmuring base did run, d. Midsummer Night's Dream. “Act III. Whilst the pleas'd Heavens her fairest livery
1. GULL, SEA.
DRAYTON— Legend of the Duke of
Buckingham. Line 1. Lack-lustre eye, and idle wing, And smirched breast that skims no more,
Bird of the wilderness White as the foam itself, the wave-
Blithesome and cumberless Hast thou not even a grave
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Upon the dreary shore,
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place.
m. HÖGG– The Skylark.
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! The winds are pillow'd on the waveless deep,
Then, when the gloaming comes
Low in the heather blooms And from the curtain'd sky the midnight moon
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Looks sombred o'er the forest depths, that
Emblem of happiness, sleep
Blest is thy dwelling-place
O to abide in the desert with thee! l'astirring, while a soft, melodious tune
Hogg— The Skylark. Nature's own voice, the lapsing stream, is heard,
Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed. And ever and anon th’unseen, night-wander
HURDIS— The Village Curate. ing bird. f. MOIR- The Night Hawk.
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks
The morn not waking till she sings. will soar
p. LYLY- The Songs of Birds.
So. 2. And singing startle the dull Night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise.
9. Because his feathers are more beautiful?
MILTON - L'Allegro. Line 41. h. Taming of the Shrew. Act IV. Sc. 3. The bird that sings on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest; KINGFISHER.
And she that doth most sweetly sing, She rears her young on yonder tree;
Sings in the shade when all things rest: She leaves her faithful mate to mind 'em;
In lark and nightingale we see Like us, for fish, she sails to sea,
What honor hath humility. And, plunging, shows us where to find 'em.
MONTGOMERY-Humility. Yo, ho, my hearts ! let's seek the deep, I said to the sky poised Lark: Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
· Hark-hark ! While the slow bending net we sweep,
Thy note is more loud and free God bless the Fish-bank and the fisher! Because there lies safe for thee i. ALEXANDER WILSON -- The Fisherman's A little nest on the ground.”
Нутп. 1 D. M. MULOCK — A Rhyme About Birds.
Day had awakened all things that be, The larks and the thrush and the swallow
free, And the milkmaid's song, and the mower's
scythe, And the matin-bell, and the mountain bee.
1. SHELLEY—The Boat on the Serchio.
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne
sings, Shall, list'ning in midair suspend their
POPE— Winter. Line 53. O earliest singer! O 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.
b. 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 shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI — Gone Forever.
St 2. The sunrise wakes the lark to sing. d. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI — Bird Raptures.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn. 9.
Romeo and Juliet--Act III. Sc. 5. 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.
h. Venus and Adonis-Line 853.
Come, let us seek the dewy lawns, And watch the early lark arise.
9. WHITE-Pastoral Song.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit can walk
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 I. Sc. 1. Then my dial goes not true; I took the lark
for a bunting j. All's Well That Ends Well-Act II.
Sc. 5. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures
That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the
ground! k. SHELLEY—To a Skylark.
BIRDS - NIGHTINGALE.
LINNET. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ? Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note. POPE-Essay on Man. Ep. III.
Line 33. I do but sing because I must, And pipe but as the linnets sing. b. TENNYSON— In Memoriam. Pt. XXI. Linnets
sit On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock. c. THOMSON — The Seasons. Autumn.
Line 974. Hail to Thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion!
And this is thy dominion.
NIGHTINGALE. Hark! ah, the nightingaleThe 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 hearest ?-Eternal passion! Eternal pain! j. MATTHEW ARNOLD-Philomela. Line 1.
As nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, So poets live upon the living light.
k. PHILIP J. BAILEY--Festus. Sc. IIome. It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lov'rs' vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word. 1. BYRON--Parisina. St. 1.
“ Most musical, most melancholy" bird! A melancholy bird! Oh, idle thought! In nature there is nothing melancholy. COLERIDGE-- The Nightingale. Line 13.
'Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music!
COLERIDGE- The Nightingale. Line 43. Sweet bird that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past or coming void of care, Well pleased with delights which present
The martlet Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty. Merchant of Venice. Act II. Sc. 9.
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 coigne 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. 1. Macbeth. Act I. Sc. 6.
MOCKING-BIRD. Then from the neighboring thicket the mock
ing-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. g. LONGFELLOW-Evangeline. Pt. II. Living echo, bird of eve, Hush thy wailing, cease to grieve; Pretty warbler, wake the grove, To notes of joy, to songs of love.
A Thomas MORTON — Pretty Mocking-vird. 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!
WILDE-Sonnet. To the Mocking-bird.
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling
DRUMMOND-Sonnet. The Nightingale. Like a wedding-song all-melting Sings the nightingale, the dear one.
p. HEINE— Book of Songs. Donna Clara. The nightingale appeard the first,
And as her melody she sang, The apple into blossom burst,
To life the grass and violets sprang. 9. HEINE-Bookc of Songs. New Spring.
No. 9. The nightingales are singing On leafy perch aloft. HEINE-Book of Songs. New Spring,
No. 5. The nightingale's sweet music Fills the air and leafy bowers. HEINE-Book of Songs. New Spring.
No. 31. Adieu! Adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep? t. KEATS— To a Nightingale.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal
Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown.
a. Keats – To a Nightingale. Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth.
b. KEATS---To the Poets. To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep.
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are
still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart
dost fill While the jolly Hours lead on propitious
May. d. MILTON—Sonnet. To the Nightingale. Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical most melancholy! Thee, chantress, olt, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy evening-song:
MILTON--- 11 Penseroso. Line 61. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day;
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's
bill, Portend success in love; f. MILTON-Sonnet. To the Nightingale. The nightingale now wanders in the vines: Her passion is to seek roses. y
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
h. MONTGOMERY – Humility. I said to the Nightingale;
“ Hail, all hail ! Pierce with thy trill the dark, Like a glittering music-spark,
When the earth grows pale and dumb." i. D. M. MULOCK--A Rhyme About
Birds. Yon nightingale, whose strain so sweetly
flows, Mourning her ravish'd young or much-loved
mate, A soothing charm o'er all the valleys throws And skies, with notes well tuned to her sad
state. j. PETRARCH -- To Laura in Death.
Sonnet XLVII. Hark! that's the nightingale,
Telling the self-same tale Her song told when this ancient earth was
young: So echoes answered when her song was sung
In the first wooded vale. k. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI -- Twilight
Calm. St. 7.
Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon,
Raptures. St. 2.
Raptures. St. 1. The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be
thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are To their right praise, and true perfection!
Merchant of Venice. Act V. Sc. 1. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Romeo and Juliet. Act. III. Sc. 5.
Magico Prodigioso." Sc. 3. Lend me your song, ye nightingales ! 0,
To the Nighlingale.
On the meadow,
In the shadow
WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE -
Under the Linden,
In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower,
The spectral Owl doth dwell; Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine hour,
But at dusk he's abroad and well! Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him
All mock him outright, by day; But at night, when the woods grow still and
dim, The boldest will shrink away! Oh, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, Then, then, is the reign of the Horned Owl!
BARRY CORNWALL--The Owl.