Favorite song birds; a description of the feathered songsters of Britain |
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Favorite Song Birds; a Description of the Feathered Songsters of Britain Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2020 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
amid beautiful BECHSTEIN bill Blackbird Blackcap boughs breast British Birds brood brown buds Buffon Bullfinch bush cage Chaffinch cheerful creatures delight dwell eggs Fauvet favorite feathered feed Finch flitting flowers fluttering frequently Fringilla garden genus GILBERT WHITE Golden-crested Goldfinch Greater Whitethroat green grey Gross-beak grove habits happy hath haunts hawthorn hear heard heart heaven hedge insects JOHN CLARE Lark leafy light lines Linnæus Linnet listen little bird loud MACGILLIVRAY mate mellow melody merry MICHAEL DRAYTON morning moss Motacilla MUDIE naturalists nature nest Nightingale notes o'er observed perch pine plaintive pleasant plumage plumes poet quote readers Redbreast Robin says season Sedge Warbler sing soft Song Birds Song Thrush songster species spot spring strain summer sweet Temminck thee thou Thrush tree trills voice warble Warbler Whitethroat wild winds wing winter wood woodland Woodlark Wren Wren builds Wren's nest young
Populære avsnitt
Side 53 - an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of Heaven, In the broad day-light, Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ! What fields, or waves, or mountains ! What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind
Side 6 - pleasant shade, By a group of myrtles made; Beasts did leap, and birds did sing; Trees did grow, and plants did spring ; Everything did banish moan, Save the Nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Leaned her breast against a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty; Fie, fie,
Side 52 - HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou
Side 97 - The Redbreast, sacred to the household Gods, Wisely regardful of the threat'ning sky, In joyless fields, and thorny thickets, leaves His shivering mates ; and pays to trusted man His annual visit. Half afraid, he first Against the window beats ; then, brisk, alights On the warm hearth; then hopping o'er the floor, Eyes all the smiling family askance, And pecks, and
Side 3 - 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-chaunt, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music.
Side 89 - LINNET. Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather; In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat, And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together. One have I marked, the happiest guest In all this
Side 58 - wings composed, that music still. To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler 1 That love-prompted strain ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond), Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain ! Tet might'st thou seem, proud privilege, to sing All independent of the leafy spring.
Side 90 - Upon yon tuft of hazel trees, That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perched in ecstacies, Yet seeming still to hover; There I where the flutter of his wings Upon his back and body flings Shadows and sunny glimmerings, That cover him all over. My dazzled sight
Side 57 - The bird that soars 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 honour hath humility.
Side 157 - slay, sweet warbling Woodlark stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing fond complaining. Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art; For surely that wad touch the heart Who kills me wi' disdaining. Say was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind