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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.
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,
Sc. 3. Song.
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!
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
Thou hast a nest, for thy love and thy rest,
t. VORDSWORTH — To a Skylark.
BIRDS - NIGHTINGALE.
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!
And this is thy dominion.
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,
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,
To life the grass and violets sprang.
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.
Thomas MORTON – Pretty Mocking-bird.
, 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.
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.
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.
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
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,
Ruptures. St. 2.
Raptures. St. 1. The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be
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,
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
In the hollow tree, in the old gray tower,
The spectral Owl doth dwell;
But at dusk he's abroad anıl well!
All mock him outright, by day;
dim, The boldest will shrink away! Oh, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, Then, then, is the reiyn of the Horned Owl!
BARRY CORNWALL--The 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.
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.
Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant
pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!-- 'Tis no sport for peas
St. Agnes' Eve--ah, bitter chill it was!
KEATS- The Eve of St. Agnes.
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,
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.
To Paradise, the Arabs say, Satan could never find the way Until the peacock led him in.
LELAND-- The Peacock.
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.
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
Just abuve my chamber door;
Throws the shadow 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.
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,
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.