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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,
Alive and wriggling in the elastic net,
Which nature hung beneath their grasping

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,
The dormitory of their dead, had vanish'd,
And all the minor spots of rock and verdure,
The abodes of happy millions, were no more.
MONTGOMERY-- Pelican Island.

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
On the pallid bust of Pallas

Just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming
Of a demon that is dreaming
And the lamplight o'er him streaming

Throws the shadow on the floor
And my soul from out that shadow
That lies floating 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,
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise

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.



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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,
With hoary moss, and gathered flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid,

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
God pours like sacramental wine

Red signs of favor o'er thy race!
f. DELLE W. NORTON- To the Robin


They'll come again to the apple tree

Robin and all the rest-
When the orchard branches are fair to see

In the snow of the blossoms dressed,
And the prettiest thing in the world will be

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. THOMSONThe 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.
Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay,

And at my casement sing,
Though it should prove a farewell lay

And this our parting spring.




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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,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.

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.

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When Jesus hung upon the cross
The birds, 'tis said, bewailed the loss
Of Him who first to mortals taught,
Guiding with love the life of all,
And heeding e'en the sparrows' all.
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!

LELAND- The Swallow.


I said to the little Swallow:

Who'll follow?
Out of thy nest in the eaves

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.

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, 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,--
Could we but follow!

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. THOMSONThe Seasons. Spring.

Line 651.


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SWAN. 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.
d. HEINE--Book of Songs. Lyrical

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

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. THOMSONThe Seasons. Spring.

Line 775.

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."

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

my door

And the robin has flown to her nest.

U. JAMES G. CLARKE--The Wood-Robin.

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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.

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.

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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;
The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one times one.
h. JEAN INGELOW--Songs of Seven.

Seven Times One.

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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.
i. JEAN INGELOW--Songs of Seven.

Seven 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. 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. CANNINGThe 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


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