The Bird World: Described with Pen and Pencil

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Seite 110 - Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee.
Seite 440 - To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler ! — that love-prompted strain, 'Twixt thee and thine' a never-failing bond, Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain ; Yet mightst thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing All independent of the leafy spring.
Seite 43 - And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariners' hollo ! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white moon-shine.
Seite 25 - HE clasps the crag with crooked hands ; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls ; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Seite 119 - I wish the bald eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country; he is a bird of bad moral character ; he does not get his living honestly...
Seite 56 - With quickened step, Brown Night retires : young Day pours in apace, And opens all the lawny prospect wide. The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn.
Seite 18 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Seite 17 - While birds, and butterflies, and flowers Make all one band of paramours, Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, Art sole in thy employment; A Life, a Presence like the air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest with any one to pair, Thyself thy own enjoyment.
Seite 77 - The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal Spring.
Seite 68 - 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...

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