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No more the mounting larks, while Daphne Day had awakened all things that be, sings,

The larks and the thrush and the swallow Shall, list’ning in midair suspend their

free, wings.

And the milkmaid's song, and the mower's a. POPE-Winter. Line 53.


And the matin-bell, and the mountain bee. O earliest singer! ( care-charming bird!

I. SHELLEYThe Boat on the Serchio. Married to morning, by a sweeter hymn Than priest e'er chanted from his cloister dim

Sound of vernal showers At midnight, -or veiled virgin's holier word

On the twinkling grass, At sunrise or the paler evening heard.

Rain-awakened towers, b. PROCTER- The Flood of Thessaly.

All that ever was O happy skylark springing

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth Up to the broad, blue sky,

surpass. Too fearless in thy winging,

m. SHELLEY—To a Skylark. Too gladsome in thy singing, Thou also soon shalt lie

Up springs the lark, Where no sweet notes are ringing.

Shrill-voiced and loud, We messenger of C. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI-Gone Forever.

morn; St 2.

Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings

Amid the dawning clouds, and irom their The sunrise wakes the lark to sing.

haunts d. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI Bird Raptures. Calls up the tuneful nations.

Line 1.

n. THOMSON The Seasons. Spring. Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

Line 587. And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs

The lark sung loud; the music at his heart On chalic'd flowers that lies.

Had called him early; upward straight he e. Cymbeline--Act II. Sc. 3. Song.


And bore in nature's quire the merriest part, It is the lark that sings so out of tune, As to the lake's broad shore my steps I bent. Striining harsh discords and unpleasing 1 0. CHARLES (TENNYSON) TURNER sharps.

Sonnet. An April Day. f. Romeo amd Juliet. Act III. Sc. 5. It was the lark, the herald of the morn.

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build g. Romeo and Juliet--Act III. Sc. 5.

Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.

WALLER-Of the Queen.
Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, Come, let us seek the dewy lawns,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver | And watch the early lark arise.

9. WHITE--Pastoral Song.
The sun ariseth in his majesty.
h. Venus and Adonis -Line 853.

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Some say, that ever 'gainst that season

Dost thou despise the earth where cares comes

abound? Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,

Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye The bird of dawning singeth all night long:

Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? And then, they say, no spirit can walk

Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will, abroad;

Those quivering wings composed, that music The nights are wholesome; then no planets

still! strike,

r. WORDSWORTH – To a Skylark. No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. A privacy of glorious light is thine: i. Hamlet --Act I. Sc. 1.

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a

flood Then my dial goes not true; I took the lark

Of harmony, with instinct more divine: for a bunting.

Type of the wise who soar, but never roam: . All's Well That Ends Well-Act II.

True to the kindred points of Heaven and Sc. 5.

Home! Better than all measures

8. WORDSWORTH – To a Skylark. Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures

Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest, That in books are found,

And, though little troubled with sloth, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the Drunken lark! thou wouldst be loth ground!

To be such a traveller as I. k. SHELLEY- To a Skylark.

1. WORDS WORTH – To a Skylark.




NIGHTINGALE. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ?

Hark ! ah, the nightingaleLoves of his own, and raptures swell the note. The tawny-throated! a. POPE- Essay on Man. Ep. III. Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!

Line 3 What triumph! hark!--what pain!
I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing.

Listen, Eugeniab. TENNYSON-In Memoriam. Pt. XXI. How thick the bursts come crowding throug!

the leaves! .. ".. Linnets ...

Again-thou hearest?-.

.. . . . . . . . sit Eternal passion! On the dead tree, a null despondent flock. Eternal pain! C. THOMSON- The Seasons. Autumn. j. MATTHEW ARNOLD— Philomela. Line 1

Line 974.

As nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, Hail to Thee, far above the rest

So poets live upon the living light. In joy of voice and pinion!

k. PHILIP J. BAILEY--Festus. Sc. Home. Thon, Linnet! in thy green array, Presiding Spirit here 10-day,

It is the hour when from the boughs Dost lead the revels of the May;

The nightingale's high note is heard; And this is thy dominion.

It is the hour when lov'rs' vows d. WORDSWORTH, The Green Linnet.

Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.

l. BYRONParisina. St. 1. MARTLET.

“ Most musical, most melancholy" bird!

A melancholy bird! Oh, idle thought!
The martlet

In nature there is nothing melancholy Builds in the weather on the outward wall, m. COLERIDGE-- The Nightingale. Line 13. Even in the force and road of casualty.

'Tis the merry Nightingale € Merchant of Venice. Act II. Sc. 9.

That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates This guest of Summer, With fast thick warble his delicious notes, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, As he were fearful that an April night by his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's Would be too short for him to utter forth breath

His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze,

Of all its music! battress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird n. COLERIDGE- The Nightingale. Line 43. Hath made its pendent bed, and procreant

Sweet bird that sing'st away the early hours cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have Of winters past or coming void of care, observ'd,

Well pleased with delights which present

are, I. Macbeth. Act I. Sc. 6.

Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling


0. DRUMMOND—Sonnct. The Nightingale. MOCKING-BIRD.

Like a wedding-song all-melting Then from the neighboring thicket the mock Sings the nightingale, the dear one. . ing-bird, wildest of singers,

p. HEINE-- Book of Songs. Donna Clara. Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung The nightingale appeard the first, o'er the water,

And as her melody she sang, Shook from his little throat such floods of

The apple into blossom burst, delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the

To life the grass and violets sprang.

q. HEINE— Book of Songs. Vero Spring. waves seemed silent to listen. 9. LONGFELLOW-- Evangeline. Pt. II.

The nightingales are singing Giving echo, bird of eve,

On leafy perch aloft. Bush thy wailing, cease to grieve;

r. HEINE-Book of Songs. Nero Spring. Tetty warbler, wake the grove,

No. 5. to notes of joy, to songs of love. R. THOMAS MORTON - Pretty Mocking-bird.

| The nightingale's sweet music

Fills the air and leafy bowers. Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!

3. HEINE-Book of Songs. New Spring. ho shall thy gay buffoonery describe?

No. :1. hine ever-ready notes of ridicule

Adieu! Adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades urs de thy fellows still with jest and jibe: Wit

Past the near meadows, over the still stream, it, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy trive, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school;

In the next valley-glades: thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe, Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? Arch-mocker and mad abbot of misrule!

Fled is that music:- do I wake or sleep? in WILDE--Sonnet. To the Mocking-bird. | t. KEATS— To a Nightingale.


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Thou wast not born for death, immortal Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon,

Make haste to wake the nightingale:
No hungry generations tread thee down; Let silence set the world in tune
The voice I hear this passing night was heard | To harken to that wordless tale

In ancient days by emperor and clown. Which warbles from the nightingale.
a. KEATS To a Nightingale.

l. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI -- Bird Where the nightingale doth sing

Raptures. St. 2. Not a senseless, tranced thing,

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, But divine melodious truth.

The moonrise wakes the nightingale. b. KEATSTo the Poets.

Come darkness, moonrise, everything To the red rising moon, and loud and deep

That is so silent, sweet, and pale: The nightingale is singing from the steep.

Come, so ye wake the nightingale. C. LONGFELLOW-Keats.


Raptures. St. 1. O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are

The nightingale, if she should sing by day, still;

When every goose is cackling, would be Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart

thought dost fill

No better a musician than the wren. While the jolly Hours lead on propitious

How many things by season season'd are

To their right praise, and true perfection! d. MILTON—Sonnet. To the Nightingale.

n. Merchant of Venice. Act V. Sc. 1. Sweet bird that shund'st the noise of folly, Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: Most musical most melancholy!

It was the nightingale, and not the lark, Thee, chantress, oft, the wocds amons, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; I woo, to hear thy evening-song.

Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: e. MILTON - 11 Penseroso. Line 61. Believe me, love, it was the nigntingale.

0. Romeo and Juliet. Act. III. Sc. 5. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day;

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's One nightingale in an interfluous wood bill,

Satiate the hungry dark with melody. Portend success in love;

p. SHELLEY- The Woodman and the f. MILTON--Sonnet. To the Nightingale.

Nightingale. The nightingale now wanders in the vines:

O Nightingale, Her passion is to seek roses.

Cease from thy enamoured tale. g. Lady MONTAGU.

9. SHELLEY- Scenes from The bird that sings on highest wing,

Magico Prodigioso." Sc. 3. Builds on the ground her lowly nest; Lend me your song, ye nightingales ! O, And she that doth most sweetly sing,

pour Sings in the shade when all things rest:

The mazy-running soul of melody In lark and nightingale we see

Into my varied verse! What honor hath humility.

r. Thomson -- The Seasons. Spring. h. MONTGOMERY Ilumility.

Line 573. I said to the Nightingale;

O noney-throated warbler of the grove! "Hail, all hail !

That in the glooming woodland art so proud

Of answering thy sweet mates in soft or loud, Pierce with thy trill the dark, Like a glittering music-spark,

Thou dost not own a note we do not love.

CHARLES (TENNYSON) TURNER-When the earth grows pale and dumb. i. D. M. MULOCK--A Rhyme About

Sonnets and Fugitive Pieces, Birds.

To the Nightingale. Yon nightingale, whose strain so sweetly

The rose looks out in the valley, flows,

And thither will I go, Mourning her ravish'd young or much-loved

To the rosy vale, where the nightingale mate,

Sings his song of woe.
A soothing charm o'er all the valleys throws t. GiL VICENTE- The Nightingale.
And skies, with notes well tuned to her sad --Under the linden,

On the meadow, j. PETRARCH — To Laura in Death.

Where our bed arranged was,
Sonnet XLVII.

--There now you may find e'en Hark! that's the nightingale,

In the shadow Telling the self-same tale

Broken flowers and crushed grass. Her song told when this ancient earth was --Near the woods, down in the vale, young:

So echoes answered when her song was sung Sweetly sang the nightingale.
In the first wooded vale.


Truns. in The Minnesinger of GerCalm. St. 7. ?

many. Under the Linden.

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When cats run home and light is come, The large white owl that with eye is blind,

And dew is cold upon the ground,

And the far-off stream is dumb, That bath sate for years in the old tree hollow,

And the whirring sail goes round, Is carried away in a gust of wind!

And the whirring sail goes round; Q. E. B. BROWNING--Isobel's Child. St. 19.

Alone and warming his five wits,

The white owl in the belfry sits.

k. TENNYSON-Song. The Owl. The Roman senate, when within The city walls an owl was seen,

The lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade, Did cause their clergy, with lustrations Goes, with the fashionable owls, to bed.

I. YOUNG--Love of Fame. Satire V. The round-fac'd prodigy t'avert,

Line 209. From doing town or country hurt. b. BUTLER-- Hudibras. Pt. II. Canto III.

Line 709.


Those golden birds that, in the spice time In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower,

drop The spectral Owl doth dwels; Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine hour,

About the gardens, drunk with that sweet

food But at dusk he's abroad and well!

Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the sumNot a bird of the forest e'er mates with him

mer food; All mock him outright, by day;

And those that under Araby's soft sun But at night, when the woods grow still and Build their high nests of budding cinnamon.

m. MOORE-Lalla Rookh. The Veiled The boldest will shrink away!

Prophet of Korussan. oh, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, Then, then, is the reign of the Horned Owl! C. BARRY CORNWALL--The Owl.

PARTRIDGE. The startled bats flew out-bird after bird-

Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant The screech-owl overhead began to flutter,


And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasAnd seem'd to mock the cry that she had

ants. heard

n. BYRON--Don Juan Canto XIII. Some dying victim utter.

St. 75. d. HooD--The Haunted House. Pt. II.

St. 2.

Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,

But may imagine how the bird was dead, St. Agnes' Eve--ah, bitter chill it was!

Although the kite soar with unblooded beak? The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.

0. Henry VI. Pt. II. Act III. Sc. 2. KEATS--The Eve of St. Agnes The screech-owl, with ill-boding cry,

PEACOCK. Fortends strange things, old women say otops every fool that passes by,

For everything seem'd resting on his nod, And frights the school-boy from his play.

As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,
LADY MONTAGU--The Politicians.

Who were accustom'd, as a sort of god,
St. 4.

To see the sultan, rich in many a gem,

Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad It was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman,

(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,) Which gives the stern'st good night.

With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt g. Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 2.

How power could condescend to do without. p. BYRON-Don Juan. Canto VII.

St. 74. Nightly sings the staring owl, To-who;

To frame the little animal, provide Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note.

All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Love's Labour's Lost. Act V. Sc. 2.

Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden Song.


The shining bellies of the fly require; The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not wonders

fail, At our quaint spirits.

Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tale.
Midsummer Night's Dream. Act II.

Q. Gay--Rural Sports. Canto I.
Sc. 3.

Line 177.
O thou precious owl!

To Paradise, the Arabs say, The wise Minerva's only fowl.

Satan could never find the way J. Sir PHILIP SIDNEY-A Remedy for Until the peacock led him in.

Love. 1 r. LELAND--The Peacock.




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 llarvest 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'd There on the cragged cliffs they perch'd at

hiin quite ease,

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

Metamorphoses. Story of Coronis. Till evening roused them to the chase again. 6. MONTGOMERY -- The Pelican Island.

The raven was screeching, the leaves fast Canto IV. Line 141.


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

sight. The dormitory of their dead, had vanish'd,

HEINE-Book of Songs. Lyrical And all the minor spots of rock and verdure,

Interludes. No. 26. The abodes of happy millions, were no more.

And the Raven, never fitting,
c. MONTGOMERY--Pelican Island.
Canto VI. Line 74.

Still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas

Just abuve 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 leels the fiery wound, That lies floating on the floor, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the

Shall be lifted-never more. ground.

I. PoEThe 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

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

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

11. Othello. Act IV. Sc. 1. Their branches spread a city to the air. e. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI -- From House | The croaking raven doth bellow for reven

to Home. St. 7. 0. Hamlet. Act III. Sc. 2. I have found out a gift for my fair;

The raven himself is hoarse I have found where the wood-pigeons breed. l

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan f.

Under my battlements.
SHENSTONE--A Pastoral. Part II.


p. Macbeth. Act I, Sc. 5. On the cross-beam under the Old South bell

ROBIN. 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, 9. WILLIS The Belfry Pigeon.

By the cold winds of winter blown,

The cottage casement beat.

Q. BOWLES -- Winler. 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 incessantly 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 Pijeon.

r. JAMES G. CLARKE - The Wood Robin.

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