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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.

e.

Cymbeline-Act II. Sc. 3. Song.

It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. f.

Romeo and Juliet. Act III. Sc. 5.
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.

Some say, that ever 'gainst that season

comes

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Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

m. 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.

n.

THOMSON-The Seasons. Spring.

Line 587.

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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!

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WORDSWORTH-To a Skylark.

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!

8.

WORDSWORTH-To a Skylark.

Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest,
And, though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken lark! thou wouldst be loth
To be such a traveller as I.

t.

WORDSWORTH-To a Skylark.

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e.

WORDSWORTH-The Green Linnet.

MARTLET.

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.

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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. Home.

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.
BYRON-Parisina. St. 1.

1.

m.

"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!

n. 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

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The nightingales are singing On leafy perch aloft.

r.

No. 9.

HEINE-Book of Songs. New Spring.
No. 5.

The nightingale's sweet music
Fills the air and leafy bowers.

S. HEINE-Book of Songs. New Spring.
No. $1.

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:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:-do I wake or sleep? t. KEATS-To a Nightingale.

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The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, The moonrise wakes the nightingale. Come darkness, moonrise, everything That is so silent, sweet, and pale: Come, so ye wake the nightingale. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI-- Bird

m.

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!

n. 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 feartul hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

0. Romeo and Juliet. Act. III. Sc. 5.

One nightingale in an interfluous wood
Satiate the hungry dark with melody.
p.
SHELLEY-The Woodman and the
Nightingale.

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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 himAll 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.

C.

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When cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
TENNYSON-Song. The Owl.

k.

The lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade, Goes, with the fashionable owls, to bed. YOUNG--Love of Fame.

1.

BIRD OF PARADISE.

Satire V. Line 209.

Those golden birds that, in the spice time

drop

About the gardens, drunk with that sweet

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Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!

And ah, ye poachers!--"Tis no sport for peas

n.

ants.

BYRON--Don Juan. Canto XIII.

St. 75. Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unblooded beak? Henry VI. Pt. II. Act III. Sc. 2.

0.

PEACOCK.

For everything seem'd resting on his nod,
As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,
Who were accustom'd, as a sort of god,
To see the sultan, rich in many a gem,
Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad
(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,)
With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt
How power could condescend to do without.
BYRON-Don Juan. Canto VII.

p.

St. 74.

To frame the little animal, provide
All the gay hues that wait on female pride:
Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden
wire

The shining bellies of the fly require;
The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not

fail,

Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tale. .. GAY--Rural Sports. Canto I.

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Line 177.

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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'd
him quite

To sooty blackness from the purest white.
j. ADDISON- Translations, Ovid's
Metamorphoses. Story of Coronis.

The raven was screeching, the leaves fast fell,

The sun gazed cheerlessly down on the sight.

k. HEINE-Book of Songs. Lyrical Interludes. No. 26.

And the Raven, never flitting,
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.
POE-The Raven. St. 18.

1.

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