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Nature's prime favourites were the Pelicans; High-fed, long-lived, and sociable and free. a. MONTGOMERY-- Pelican Island.
Canto V. Line 144.
QUAIL. The song-birds leave us at the summer's
close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And pipings of the quail among the sheaves
i. LONGFELLOW— The Harvest Moon.
Nimbly they seized and secreted their prey,
beaks; Till, swol'n with captures, the unwieldy bur
den Clogg'd their slow flight, as heavily to land, These mighty hunters of the deep return'd. There on the cragged cliffs they perch'd at
ease, Gorging their hapless victims one by one; Then full and weary,
side by side, they slept, Till evening roused them to the chase again. b. MONTGOMERY+ The Pelican Island.
Canto IV. Line 141.
The nursery of brooding Pelicans,
Canto VI. Line 74.
RAVEN. The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, White as the whitest dove's unsully'd breast Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl; His tongue, his prating tongue had chang'i
him quite To sooty blackness from the purest white. j. ADDISON- Translations, Ovid's
Metamorphoses. Story of Coronis The raven was screeching, the leaves fas
fell, The sun gazed cheerlessly down on th
sight. k. HEINE-Book of Songs. Lyrical
Interludes. No. 26 And the Raven, never fitting,
Still is sitting, still is sitting
Just above my chamber door;
Throws the shadow on the floor
Shall be lifted--never more. 1. PoE- The Raven. St. 18.
See, from the brake the whirring pheasant
springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the
ground. d. POPE--Windsor Forest. Line 113.
Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nes
tled there; My trees were full of songs and flowers and
fruit, Their branches spread a city to the air. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI -- From House
to Home. St. 7.
Did ever raven sing so like a lark,
Titus Andronicus. Act III. Sc. 1.
0, it comes o'er my memory, As doth the raven o'er the infectious hous Boding to all.
Othello. Act IV. So, 1.
The Robin-red-breast till of late had rest, And children sacred held a Martin's nest. g. POPE-Second Book of Horace.
Satire II. Line 37.
The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
Cymbeline. There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; The Redbreast loves to build and warble
there, And light footsteps lightly print the ground. b. GRAY_Elegy. Last St. (Early
Edition.) Bearing His cross, while Christ passed forth
forlorn, His God-like forehead by the mock crown
torn, A little bird took from that crown one thorn. To soothe the dear Redeemer's throbbing
head, That bird did what she could; His blood 'tis
said, Down dropping, dyed her tender bosom red. Since then no wanton boy disturbs her nest; Weasel nor wild cat will her young molest; All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast. HOSKYNS-ABRAHALL-The Redbreast. A Briton Legend. In English
Lyrics. The sobered robin, hunger-silent now, Seeks cedar-berries blue, his autumn cheer.
d. LOWELL- An Indian Summer Reverie. Poor robin, driven in by rain-storms wild To lie submissive under household hands With beating heart that no love understands, And scared eye, like a child Who only knows that he is all alone And summer's gone.
D. M. MULOCK-Summer Gone. St. 2. On fair Brittannia's isle, bright bird,
A legend strange is told of thee,-'Tis said thy blithesome song was hushed
While Christ toiled up Mount Calvary, Bowed 'neath the sins of all mankind;
And humbled to the very dust By the vile cross, while viler man
Mocked with a crown of thorns the Just. Pierced by our sorrows, and weighed down
By our transgressions, - faint, and weak, Crushed by an angry Judge's frown,
And agonies no word can speak,"Twas then, dear bird, the legend says
That thou, from out His crown, didst tear The thorns, to lighten the distress,
And ease the pain that he must bear, While pendant from thy tiny beak
The gory points thy bosom pressed, And crimsoned with thy Saviour's blood
The sober brownness of thy breast ! Since which proud hour for thee and thine,
As an especial sign of grace
Red signs of favor o'er thy race!
They'll come again to the apple tree
Robin and all the rest-
In the snow of the blossoms dressed,
The building of the nest. h. MARGARET E. SANGSTER-- The Building
of the Nest. The redbreast, sacred to the household gods, Wisely regardful of th' embroiling sky, In joyless fields and thorny thickets, leaves His shivering mates and pays to trusted
man His annual visit. i. THOMSON—The Seasons. Winter.
Line 246. 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. ). JOHN WEBSTER— The White Devil; or,
Vittoria Corombona. 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 tills 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 ko. 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? 1. 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 flowerless; but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
WORDSWORTH --Poor Robin.
And at my casement sing,
And this our parting spring.
The sparrows chirped as if they still wei
proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentione
be. i. LONGFELLOW-- The Birds of
Killingworth. St. The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it had its head bit off by its young.
j. King Lear. Act I. Sc. 4.
Behold, within the leafy shade,
k. WORDSWORTH— The Sparrow's Nest.
ROOK. Those Rooks, dear, from morning till night They seem to do nothing but quarrel and
fight, And wrangle and jangle, and plunder, D. M. MULOCK-- Thirty Years. The
Blackbird and the Rooks. The building rook’ill caw from the windy
tall elm-tree. b. TENNYSON--The May Queen. New
Year's Eve. The rook who high amid the boughs In early Spring, his airy city builds, And ceaseless caws amusive. THOMSON— The Seasons. Spring.
Line 765. SEA-BIRD. Hush! a young sea-bird floats, and that
quick cry Shrieks to the levelled weapon's echoing
sound: Grasp its lank wing, and on, with reckless
bound ! Yet, creature of the surf, a sheltering breast To-night shall haunt in vain thy far-off
nest, A call unanswered search the rocky ground. d. HAWKER--Records of the Western Shore.
Pater Vester Pascit Illa. 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.
SWINBURNE—Songs of the Spring-Tides.
When Jesus hung upon the cross
LELAND- The Swallow.
I said to the little Swallow:
Under the ivy leaves. 0. D. M. MULOCK-- A Rhyme about Bin
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 benty nest, Close by the meadow pool and wooden brig. f. CLARE--The Rural Muse. Poems.
The Sedge-Bird's Nest.
Quick drifting to and fro,
A shadow on the snow, 9. GEORGE W. BUNGAY— The English
Sparrow. 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. h. GEORGE MACDONALD-Paul Faber.
Consider the Ravens. Ch. XXI.
It's surely summer, for there's a swallow: Come one swallow, his mate will follow, The bird race quicken and wheel and thick p. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI-A Bird So
There goes the swallow,--
Hasty swallow stay,
Point us out the way; Look back swallow, turn back swallow, st
swallow. 9. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI — Songs in
Cornfield. St. BIRDS-SWALLOW.
The swallow twitters about the eaves;
Blithely she sings, and sweet, and clear; Around her climb the woodbine leaves In a golden atmosphere. CELIA THAXTER— The Swallow. St. 1.
The swallow sweeps The slimy pool, to build his hanging house. b. THOMSON—The Seasons. Spring.
SWAN. and over the pond are sailing
Two swans all white as snow; Sweet voices mysteriously wailing
Pierce through me as onward they go.
Sweet melody rises on high,
Songs. No. 2. The swan in the pool is singing,
And up and down doth he steer,
Dips under the water clear.
Interlude. No. 64.
No. 3. The swan with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly, Her state with oary feet. Í MILTON- Paradise Lost. Bk. VII.
Line 438. The white swan, as he lies on the wet grass,
when the Fates summon him, sing at the fords of
Mzeander. g. RILEY's Ovid. Ep. VII. All the water in the ocean, Can Dever turn & swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood. h. Titus Andronicus. Act IV. Sc. 2.
I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide, And spend her strength with over-matching
i. Henry VI. Pt. III. Act. I. Sc. 4. The swan's down feather, That stands upon the swell at full of tide, And neither way inclines. Antony and Ciecpatra. Act III.
So. 2. 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. k. THOMSON—The Seasons. Spring.
I said to the brown, brown Thrush:
D. M. MULOCK-A Rhyme About Birds.
There the thrushes Sing till latest sunlight flushes In the west. p. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI — Sound Sleep.
St. 2. When rosy plumelets tuft the larch, And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.
9. TENNYSON- In Memoriam. Pt, XC. At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight
appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years.
WORDSWORTH-Reverie of Poor Susan.
WHIP-POOR-WILL. All day in silence thou dost hide, At eve thy call is drifted wide, Scarce melody, a tender trill, And sad, oh, strange, wild whip-poor-will. MARIE LE BARON- The Whip-Poor
Will. Where deep and misty shadows float In forests depths is heard thy note. Like a lost spirit, earthbound still, Art thou, mysterious whip-poor-will. t. MARIE LE BARON--The Whip-Poor
Will. But the whip-poor-will wails on the moor,
And day bas deserted the west: The moon glimmers down thro' the vines at
And the robin has flown to her nest.
U. JAMES G. CLARKE--The Wood-Robin.
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. CLARE—The Rural Muse. Poems.
The Happy Bird.
b. D. M. MULOCK-- The Wren's Nest.
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 !
JULIA C. R. DORR--My Birthday.
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.
1. MARTIAL-IX. 53.
Every anniversary of a birthday is the dispelling of a dream.
A birthday :--and now a day that rose
With much of hope, with meaning rifeA thoughtful day from dawn to close:
The middle day of human life. g. JEAN INGELOW-A Birthday Walk.
I am old, so old, I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done;
Seven Times One.
Show me your nest with the young ones in it;
I will not steal them away;
I am seven times one to-day.
Seven Times One.
As this auspicious day began the race
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. j. JEFFERY Miscellanies. To a Lady
on her Birthday.
BLESSINGS. 'Tis not for mortals always to be blest. ARMSTRONG—Act of Preserving Heallh.
Bk, IV. Line 260. Blessings star forth forever; but a curse Is like a cloud-it passes. BAILEY--Festus. Sc. Hades.
Blest Is he whose heart is the home of the great
dead, And their great thoughts.
p. BAILEY- Festus. Sc. A Village Feast. God bless you! I have nothing to tell, sir. 9. CANNING—The Friend of Humanity
and the Knife-Gi in ler. For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, And though a late, a sure reward succeeds. 1. CONGREVE- The Mourning Bride.
Act V. Sc. 7. What is remote and difficult of success we are apt to overrate; what is really best for us lies always within our reach, though often overlooked.
s. LONGFELLOW-- Kavanagh. Ch. XXX. A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet. t. Rich. MONCKTON MILNES— The Men of