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QUAIL. Nature's prime favourites were the Pelicans; | The song-birds leave us at the summer's High-fed, long-lived, and sociable and free.

close, a. MONTGOMERY-- Pelican Island.

Only the empty nests are left behind, Canto V. Line 144.

And pipings of the quail among the sheaves

i. “LONGFELLOW-- The Harvest Moon. Nimbly they seized and secreted their prey, Alive and wriggling in the elastic net,

RAVEN. Which nature hung beneath their grasping beaks;

The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, Till, swol'n with captures, the unwieldy bur White as the whitest dove's unsully'd breast den

Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Clogg'd their slow flight, as heavily to land, Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl; These mighty hunters of the deep return'd. His tongue, his prating tongue had chang' There on the cragged cliffs they perch'd at

him quite ease,

To sooty blackness from the purest white. Gorging their hapless victims one by one; j. ADDISONTranslations, Ovid's Then full and weary, side by side, they slept,

Metamorphoses. Story of Coronis Till evening roused them to the chase again. b. MONTGOMERY• The Pelican Island. The raven was screeching, the leaves fas Canto IV. Line 141.


The sun gazed cheerlessly down on th The nursery of brooding Pelicans,

sight. The dormitory of their dead, had vanishid,

k. HEINE-Book of Songs. Lyrical

Interludes. No. 2 And all the minor spots of rock and verdure, The abodes of happy millions, were no more.

And the Raven, never fitting, c. MONTGOMERY-- Pelican Island.

Still is sitting, still is sitting
Canto VI. Line 74.

On the pallid bust of Pallas

Just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming

Of a demon that is dreaming See, from the brake the whirring pheasant And the lamplight o'er him streaming springs,

Throws the shadow on the floor And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: And my soul from out that shadow Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, That lies floating on the floor, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the

Shall be lifted-never more. ground.

1. PoE- The Raven. St. 18. d. POPE-- Windsor Forest. Line 113.

Did ever raven sing so like a lark,

That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise PIGEON.

m. Titus Andronicus. Act III. Sc. 1. Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nes

O, it comes o'er my memory, tled there ;

As doth the raven o'er the infectious hous My trees were full of songs and flowers and Boding to all. fruit,

n. Othello. Act IV. So. 1. Their branches spread a city to the air. e. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI -- From House

The croaking raven doth bellow for reveng to Home. St. 7.

0. Hamlet. Act III. Sc. 2.

The raven himself is hoarse I have found out a gift for my fair;

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan I have found where the wood-pigeons breed. f. SHENSTONE-- A Pastoral. Part II.

| Under my battlements.

p. Macbeth. Act I, Sc. 5.

Hope. On the cross-beam under the Old South bell

The nest of a pigeon is builded well.

Poor Robin sits and sings alone,
In summer and winter that bird is there,
Out and in with the morning air.

When showers of driving sleet, g. WILLISThe Belfry Pigeon.

By the cold winds of winter blown,

The cottage casement beat.

q. BOWLES --- Winter. Redbreast. 'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat; The wood-robin sings at my door, There's a human look in its swelling breast, And her song is the sweetest I hear And the gentle curve of its lowly crest; From all the sweet birds that incessant! And I often stop with the fear I feel

pour He runs so close to the rapid wheel.

Their notes through the noon of the year h. WILLIS- The Belfry Pigeon.

r. JAMES G. CLARKE - The Wood Robin




The redbreast oft, at evening hours,

The Robin-red-breast till of late had rest, Shall kindly lend his little aid,

And children sacred held a Martin's nest. With hoary moss, and gathered flowers,

g. POPE-Second Book of Horace. To deck the ground where thou art laid,

Satire II. Line 37. a. WILLIAM COLLINS - Odes. Dirge in

Cumbeline. | They'll come again to the apple tree

Robin and all the restThere scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, I When the orchard branches are fair to see By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; In the snow of the blossoms dressed, The Redbreast loves to build and warble And the prettiest thing in the world will be there,

The building of the nest. And light footsteps lightly print the ground. h. MARGARET E. SANGSTER- The Building b. GRAY_Elegy. Last St. (Early

of the Nest. Edition.)

The redbreast, sacred to the household gods, Bearing His cross, while Christ passed forth

Wisely regardful of th' embroiling sky, forlorn,

In joyless fields and thorny thickets, leaves His God-like forehead by the mock crown

His shivering mates and pays to trusted torn,

man A little bird took from that crown one thorn.

His annual visit. To soothe the dear Redeemer's throbbing

i. THOMSONThe Seasons. Winter. head,

Line 246. That bird did what she could; His blood 'tis Call for the robin-red-breast and the wren, said,

Since o'er shady groves they hover, Down dropping, dyed her tender bosom red. And with leaves and flowers do cover Since then no wanton boy disturbs her nest; The friendless bodies of unburied men. Weasel nor wild cat will her young molest; J. JOHN WEBSTER— The White Devil; or, All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast.

Vittoria Corombona. A Dirge. 6. HOSKYNS-ABRAHALLThe Redbreast. A Briton Legend. In English

Each morning, when my waking eyes first Lyrics.


Through the wreathed lattice, golden day The sobered robin, hunger-silent now,

appear, Seeks cedar-berries blue, his autumn cheer.

There sits a robin on the old elm-tree, d. LOWELL-An Indian Summer Reverie. And with such stirring music fills my ear,

I might forget that life had pain or fear, Poor robin, driven in by rain-storms wild And feel again as I was wont to do, To lie submissive under household hands When hope was young, and life itself were With beating heart that no love understands,

new. And scared eye, like a child

k. ANNA MARIA WELLS-- The Old Elm Who only knows that he is all alone

Tree. And summer's gone.

Art thou the bird whom Man loves best, e. D. M. MULOCK-Summer Gone. St. 2.

| The pious bird with the scarlet breast, On fair Brittannia's isle, bright bird,

Our little English robin; A legend strange is told of thee, -

The bird that comes about our doors 'Tis said thy blithesome song was hushed

When Autumn winds are sobbing? While Christ toiled up Mount Calvary,

1. WORDSWORTH - The Redbreast Chasing Bowed 'neath the sins of all mankind;

the Butterfly. And humbled to the very dust

Now when the primrose makes a splendid By the vile cross, while viler man

show, Mocked with a crown of thorns the Just. And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, Pierced by our sorrows, and weighed down And humbler growths as moved with one By our transgressions,-faint, and weak,

desire Crushed by an angry Judge's frown,

Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, And agonies no word can speak,

Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay "Twas then, dear bird, the legend says With his red stalks upon this sunny day!

That thou, from out His crown, didst tear m. WORDSWORTH -Poor Robin.
The thorns, to lighten the distress,

Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay,
And ease the pain that he must bear,
While pendant from thy tiny beak

And at my casement sing,
The gory points thy bosom pressed,

Though it should prove a farewell lay
And crimsoned with thy Saviour's blood

And this our parting spring.
The sober brownness of thy breast !
Since which proud hour for thee and thine, Then, little Bird, this boon confer,
As an especial sign of grace

Come, and my requiem sing,
God pours like sacramental wine

Nor fail to be the harbinger Red signs of favor o'er thy race!

Of everlasting Spring. f. DELLE W, NORTON- To the Robin

WORDSWORTH –To a Redbreast.
Redbreast. 1

In Sickness.

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The sparrows chirped as if they still wei

proud Those Rooks, dear, from morning till night

Their race in Holy Writ should mentione They seem to do nothing but quarrel and

be. fight,

i LONGFELLOW--The Birds of And wrangle and jangle, and plunder,

Killingworth. St. a. D. M. MULOCK-- Thirty Years. The Blackbird and the Rooks.

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, The building rook’ill caw from the windy That it had its head bit off by its young. tall elm-tree.

J. King Lear. Act I. Sc. 4. b. TENNYSON--The May Queen. New

Year's Eve. Behold, within the leafy shade,
The rook who high amid the boughs

Those bright blue eggs together laid!
In early Spring, his airy city builds,

On me the chance-discovered sight And ceaseless caws amusive.

Gleamed like a vision of delight. c. THOMSON The Seasons. Spring.

k. WORDSWORTH The Sparrow's Nest.

Line 765.

SWALLOW. Hush! a young sea-bird floats, and that The little comer's coming, the comer o quick cry

the sea, Shrieks to the levelled weapon's echoing The comer of the summer, all the suni sound:

days to be. Grasp its lank wing, and on, with reckless 1. THOMAS AIRD- The Swallow.

bound ! Yet, creature of the surf, a sheltering breast Down comes rain drop, bubble follows; To-night shall haunt in vain thy far-off On the house top one by one. nest,

Flock the synagogue of swallows, A call unanswered search the rocky ground. Met to vote that autumn's gone. d. HAWKER--Records of the Western Shore. M. THEOPHILE GAUTIER-Life, a Bubble. Pater Vester Pascit Illa.

A Bird's-Eye View There

Trans. F. ] Between two seas the sea-bird's wing makes halt,

When Jesus hung upon the cross Wind-weary; while with lifting head he

The birds, 'tis said, bewailed the loss waits For breath to reinspire him from the gates

Of Him who first to mortals taught,

Guiding with love the life of all,
That open still toward sunrise on the vault
High-domed of morning.

And heeding e'en the sparrows' iall. e. SWINBURNE—Songs of the Spring-Tides. But, as old Swedish legends say,

Of all the birds upon that day,

The swallow felt the deepest grief,
Fixed in a white-thorn bush, its summer

And longed to give her Lord relief, guest,

And chirped when any near would come, So low, e'en grass o'er-topped its tallest twig,

Hugswala swala swal honom!'' A sedge-bird built its little benty nest,

Meaning, as they who tell it deem,
Close by the meadow pool and wooden brig. Oh, cool, oh, cool and comfort Him!
f. CLARE--The Rural Muse. Poems. n. LELAND-- The Swallow.
The Sedge-Bird's Nest.

I said to the little Swallow:

Who'll follow?

Out of thy nest in the eaves Blithe wanderer of the wintry air,

Under the ivy leaves. Now here, now there, now everywhere,

0. D. M. MULOCK--A Rhyme about Bin Quick drifting to and fro, A cheerful life devoid of care,

It's surely summer, for there's a swallow: A shadow on the snow.

Come one swallow, his mate will follow, g. GEORGE W. BUNGAYThe English

The bird race quicken and wheel and thick Sparrow.

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI-A Bird So In thy own sermon, thou

St. That the sparrow falls dost allow, It shall not cause me any alarm,

There goes the swallow,--For neither so comes the bird to harm,

Could we but follow! Seeing our Father, thou hast said,

Hasty swallow stay, Is by the sparrow's dying bed;

Point us out the way; Therefore it is a blessed place,

Look back swallow, turn back swallow, st And the sparrow in high grace.

swallow. h. GEORGE MacDONALDPaul Faber.

9. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI — Songs in Consider the Ravens. Ch. XXI. |

Cornfield. St.

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THROSTLE. The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill. I. Midsummer Night's Dream. Act II.

Sc. 1. And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let nature be your teacher.

m. WORDSWORTH The Tables 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 rapture, 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


CLAREThe Thrush's Nest.
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." 0. D. M. MULOCK-A Rhyme About Birds.

There the thrushes Sing till latest sunlight flushes In the west.


St. 2.

And over the pond are sailing

Two swans all white as snow;
Sweet voices mysteriously wailing

Pierce through mé 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.
C. 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.
d. HEINE--Book of Songs. Lyrical

Interlude. No. 64.
The swan, like the soul of the poet,
By the dull world is ill understood.
e. HEINE— Early Poems. Evening Songs.

No. 3. The swan with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly,

rows 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

Mæander. g. Riley's Ovid. Ep. VII. All the water in the ocean, Can Dever turn a swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood. . 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

waves. 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. j. Antony and Cieopatra. Act III.

Sc. 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.

Line 775.

When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.

q. TENNYSONIn Memoriam. Pt, XC. At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight

appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung

for three years. r. 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. S. MARIE LE BARONThe Whip-Poor

Will. Where deep and misty shadows float In forests depths is heard thy note. Like a lost spirit, earth bound 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

my door And the robin has flown to her nest. Ho JAMES G. CLARKE--The Wood-Robin.



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The happy white-throat on the swaying

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

To keep her hold.
a. CLAREThe Rural Muse. Poems.

The Happy Bird.

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.

b. D. M. MULOCK--The Wren's Nest.

Among the dwellings framed by birds

In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little Wren's

In spugness may compare.
d. WORDSWORTH-À Wren's Nest,

Yellow-bird, where did you learn that song,
Perched on the trellis where grape-vines

In and out fluttering, all day long,
With your golden breast bedropping with

e. CELIA THAXTER—- Yellow-Bird.


Believing hear, what you deserve to hear:

Your birthday, as my own, to me is dear. My birthday !-"How many years ago ? Blest and distinguish'd days! which we Twenty or thirty ?" Don't ask me!

should prize “Forty or fifty ?"--How can I tell?

The first, the kindest, bounty of the skies. I do not remember my birth, you see!

But yours gives most; for mine did only lend f. JULIA C. R. DORR-- My Birthday. Me to the world, yours gave to me a friend.

1. MARTIAL-IX. 53. A birthday :--and now a day that rose With much of hope, with meaning rife

Every anniversary of a birthday is the disA thoughtful day from dawn to close:

pelling of a dream.

m. ZSCHOKKE. The middle day of human life. g. JEAN INGELOW-A Birthday Walk.

BLESSINGS. I am old, so old, I can write a letter;

'Tis not for mortals always to be blest. My birthday lessons are done;

n. ARMSTRONG--Act of Preserving Heallh. The lambs play always, they know no better;

Bk, IV. Line 260. They are only one times one. h. JEAN INGELOW--Songs of Seven.

Blessings star forth forever; but a curse Seven Times One.

Is like a cloud-it passes.

0. BAILEY--Festus. Sc. Hades. Show me your nest with the young ones in it; I will not steal them away;

Is he whose heart is the home of the great I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet

dead, I am seven times one to-day.

And their great thoughts.
JEAN INGELOW--Songs of Seven.

p. BAILEY- Festus. Sc. A Village Feast. Seven Times One.

God bless you! I have nothing to tell, sir. As this auspicious day began the race

9. CANNINGThe Friend of Humanity

and the Knife-G in der. Of ev'ry virtue join'd with ev'ry grace; May you, who own them, welcome its return, For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, Till excellence, like yours, again is born. And though a late, a sure reward succeeds. The years we wish, will half your charms r. CONGREVEThe Mourning Bride. impair;

Act V. Sc. 7. The years we wish, the better half will spare, The victims of your eyes will bleed no more,

What is remote and difficult of success we But all the beauties of your mind adore.

are apt to overrate; what is really best for us j. JEFFERY Miscellanies. To a Lady

lies always within our reach, though often on her Birthday.


s. LONGFELLOW-- Kavanagh. Ch. XXX. This is my birthday, and a happier one | A man's best things are nearest him, was never mine.

Lie close about his feet. k. LONGFELLOW-The Divine Tragedy.

t. Rich. MONCKTON MILNES—The Men of The Second Passover. "Pt. II. |



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