Nests and Eggs of Familiar British Birds: Described and Illustrated, with an Account of the Haunts and Habits of the Feathered Architects, and Their Times and Modes of Building

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Groombridge and Sons, 1854 - 78 стор.
 

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Сторінка 12 - When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay ; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.
Сторінка 70 - I," said the Sparrow, "With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin." Who saw him die? "I," said the Fly, "With my little eye, I saw him die.
Сторінка 60 - 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. When Mary chose the better part, She meekly sat at Jesus...
Сторінка 20 - With joy — and oft an unintruding guest, I watched her secret toils from day to day, How true she warped the moss to form her nest, And modelled it within with wood and clay.
Сторінка 21 - And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue; And there I witnessed, in the summer hours, A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly, Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.
Сторінка 3 - Whose beetling cliffs o'erhang the Western main, The royal bird his lonely kingdom forms Amidst the gathering clouds and sullen storms ; Through the wide waste of air he darts his sight, And holds his sounding pinions poised for flight ; With cruel eye premeditates the war, And marks his destined victim from afar : Descending in a whirlwind to the ground, His pinions like the rush of waters sound ; The fairest of the fold he bears away, And to his nest compels the struggling prey ; He scorns the...
Сторінка 3 - High on the cliff, and feasts his young with blood. On Snowdon's rocks, or Orkney's wide domain, Whose beetling cliffs o'erhang the western main ; The royal bird his lonely kingdom forms Amidst the gathering clouds and sullen storms; Through the wide waste of air he darts his sight, And holds his sounding pinions...
Сторінка 36 - We will not plunder music of its dower, Nor turn this spot of happiness to thrall ; For melody seems hid in every flower, That blossoms near thy home. These harebells all Seem bowing with the beautiful in song ; And gaping cuckoo-flower, with spotted leaves, Seems blushing of the singing it has heard.

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