Sivut kuvina




[ocr errors]

Day had awakened all things that be, The larks and the thrush and the swallow

free, And the milkmaid's song, and the mower's

scythe, And the matin.bell, and the mountain bee.

1. SHELLEY- The Boat on the Serchio.


[blocks in formation]


[blocks in formation]


[blocks in formation]

No more the mounting larks, while Daphne

sings, Shall, list'ning in midair suspend their


POPE- Winter. Line 53, O earliest singer! O care-charming bird! Married to morning, by a sweeter hymn Than priest e'er chanted from his cloister dim At midnight. -

--or veiled virgin's holier word At sunrise or the paler evening heard.

b. PROCTER— The Flood of Thessaly. O happy skylark springing

Up to the broad, blue sky, Too fearless in thy winging, Too gladsome in thy singing,

Thou also soon shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI -Gone Forever.

St 2. The sunrise wakes the lark to sing. d. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI Bird Raptures.

Line 1. 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.
Cymbeline-Act II.

Sc. 3. Song.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing

sharps. f. Romeo amd 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 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit can walk

abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets

strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to

charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

i. Hamlet --Act I. Sc. 1. Then my dial goes not true; I took the lark

for a bunting: j. All's Well That Ends Well-Act II.

Sc. 5. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures

That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the

ground! k. SHELLEY-- To a Skylark.

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field. p.

WALLER Of the Queen.

Come, let us seek the dewy lawns, And watch the early lark arise. 9.

WHITE- Pastoral Song.


Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares

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


WORDSWORTH - To a Skylark.

[ocr errors]

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine: Whence thou dost pour upon the world a

Of harmony, with instinct more divine:
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam:
True to the kindred points of Heaven and

Home !
WORDSWORTH – To a Skylark.

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

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. VORDSWORTH To a Skylark.




[ocr errors]

LINNET. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ? Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note. POPE-Essay on Man. Ep. III.

Line 33. I do but sing because I must, And pipe but as the linnets sing. 6. TENNYSON- In Memoriam. Pt. XXI, Linnets

sit On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock. THOMSON- The Seasons. Autumn.

Line 974. Hail to Thee, far above the rest

In joy of voice and pinion!
Thon, Linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding Spirit here 10-day,
Dost lead the revels of the May;

And this is thy dominion.
d. WORDSWORTH-The Green Linnet.





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 fou'd mansionry, that the heaven's

breath Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze,

nor coigne of vantage, but this bird Hath made its pendent bed, and procreant

cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have

obsery'd, The air is delicate.

Macbeth. Act I. Sc. 6.


NIGHTINGALE. Hark! ah, the nightingaleThe tawny-throated! Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst! What triumph! hark!--what pain! Listen, EugeniaHow thick the bursts come crowding throug!

the leaves! Again-thou hearest?-Eternal passion! Eternal pain! j. 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. 1. BYRON-Parisina. St. 1.

“ 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!

COLERIDGE The Nightingale. Line 43. Sweet bird that sing'st away the early hours

Of winters past or coming void of care,
Well pleaséd with delights which present

are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling


DRUMMOND-Sonnct. The Nightingale. Like a wedding-song all-melting Sings the nightingale, the dear one.

P. HEINE-Book of Songs. Donna Clara. The nightingale appear'd the first,

And as her melody she sang,
The apple into blossom burst,

To life the grass and violets sprang.
HEINE-Book of Songs. Vevo Spring.

No. 9.
The nightingales are singing
On leafy perch aloft.
HEINE-Book of Songs. New Spring,

No. 5. The nightingale's sweet music Fills the air and leafy bowers. 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?

KEATS—To a Nightingale.



MOCKING-BIRD. Then from the neighboring thicket the mock

ing-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung

o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of

delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the

waves seemed silent to listen. 9.

LONGFELLOW-- Evangeline. Pt. II.
Living echo, bird of eve,
Hush thy wailing, cease to grieve;
Pretty warbler, wake the grove,
To notes of joy, to songs of love.

Thomas MORTON Pretty Mocking-bird.
Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!
Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe?
Thine ever-ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and jibe:

, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy trive, Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school; To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe, Arch-mocker and mad abbot of misrule!

WILDE--Sonnet. To the Mocking-bird.

[ocr errors]









Thou wast not born for ceath, immortal

Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was hearil

In ancient days by emperor and clown.

a. KEATS To a Nightingale. Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth.

b. KEATS - To the Poets. To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep.

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are

still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart

dost fill While the jolly Hours lead on propitious

May. d. MILTON-Sonnet. To the Nightingale. Sweet bird that shund'st the noise ot folly, Most musical most melancholy! Thee, chantress, oft, the wocds amoní, I woo, to hear thy evening-song:

e. MILTON -- 11 Penseroso. Line 61. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day;

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's

bill, Portend success in love; f. Milton-Sonnet. To the Nightingale. The nightingale now wanders in the vines: Her passion is to seek roses. 9.

The bird that sings on highest wing,

Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,

Sings in the shade when all things rest:
In lark and nightingale we see
What honor hath humility.

h. MONTGOMERY -- Humility. I said to the Nightingale;

“Hail, all hail ! Pierce with thy trill the dark, Like a glittering music-spark,

When the earth grows pale and dumb." i. D. M. MULOCK--A Rhyme About

Birds. Yon nightingale, whose strain so sweetly

flows, Mourning her ravish'd young or much-loved

mate, A soothing charm o'er all the valleys throws And skies, with notes well tuned to her sad

state. j. PETRARCH To Laura in Death.

Sonnet XLVII. Hark! that's the nightingale,

Telling the self-same tale Her song told when this ancient earth was

young: So echoes answered when her song was sung

In the first wooded vale. k. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI -- Twilight

Calm. St. 7.

Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon,
Make haste to wake the nightingale:
Let silence set the world in tune
To harken to that wordless tale
Which warbles from the nightingale.

Ruptures. St. 2.
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.

Raptures. St. 1. The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be

No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise, and true perfection!

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 Juiet. Act. III. Sc. 5. One nightingale in an interfluous wood Satiate the hungry dark with melody. p. SHELLEY- The Woodman and the

Nightingale. O Nightingale, Cease from thy enamoured tale. 9. SHELLEY – Scenes from

Magico Prodigioso." Sc. 3. Lend me your song, ye nightingales ! O,

The mazy-running soul of melody
Into my varied verse !
THOMSON The Seasons. Spring.

Line 573.
O noney-throated warbler of the grove !
That in the glooming woodland art so proud
Of answering thy sweet mates in soft or loud,
Thou dost not own a note we do not love.
Sonnels and Fugitive Pieces.

To the Nightingale. The rose looks out in the valley, And thither will I go, To the rosy vale, where the nightingale Sings his song of woe. 1. GIL VICENTE- The Nightingale. --Under the linden,

On the meadow, Where our bed arranged was, --- There now you may find e'en

In the shadow Broken flowers and crushed grass. - Near the woods, down in the vale,

Tandaradi! Sweetly sang the nightingale.

WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE-Trans. in The Minnesinger of Germany.

Under the Linden


[ocr errors]


[blocks in formation]

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 anıl well!
Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him

All mock him outright, by day;
But at night, when tue woods grow still and

dim, The boldest will shrink away! Oh, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, Then, then, is the reiyn of the Horned Owl!


Those golden birds that, in the spice time

drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet

food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the sum

mer flood; And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon. MOORE-Lalla Rookh. The Veiled

Prophet of Korussan.



[ocr errors]

The startled bats flew out-bird after bird-The screech-owl overhead began to flutter, And seem'd to mock the cry that she had

heard Some dying victim utter. HOOD--The Haunted House. Pt. II.

St. 2.

Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant

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

BYRON-- Don Juan. Canto XIII.

St. 75.


[blocks in formation]



St. Agnes' Eve--ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.

KEATS- The Eve of St. Agnes.
The screech-owl, with ill-boding cry,
Portends strange things, old women say
Stops every fool that passes by,
And frights the school-boy from his play.
LADY MONTAGU--The Politicians.

St. 4. It was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good night.

Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 2.


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.
p. BYRON-- Don Juan. Canto VII.

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. 9. Gay--Rural Sports. Canto I.

Line 177

[blocks in formation]

To Paradise, the Arabs say, Satan could never find the way Until the peacock led him in.

LELAND-- The Peacock.

[blocks in formation]

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.

[blocks in formation]

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'd

hiin 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. MEINE-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 abuve 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. 2. PoE- The Raven. St. 18. 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 house, Boding to all.

Othello. Act IV. Sc. 1.


See, from the brake the whirring pheasant

springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: Short is his joy; he leels 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.



[blocks in formation]

I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed. f. SHENSTONE-- A Pastoral. Part II.

Поре. . On the cross-beam under the Old South bell The nest of a pigeon is builded well. in summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air. g.

WILLIS- The Belfry Pigeon.


'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel-
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.

h. WILLIS-- The Belfry Pigeon

Poor Robin sits and sings alone,

When showers of driving sleet, By the cold winds of winter blown, The cottage casement beat.

9. BOWLES -- Winter. Redbreast. The wood-robin sings at my door,

And her song is the sweetest I hear From all the sweet birds that incessantly

pour Their notes through the noon of the year.

JAJES G. CLARKE - The Wood Robin.

« EdellinenJatka »