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Page 69 - Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft To give my Love good-morrow ! Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow : Bird, prune thy wing ! nightingale, sing ! To give my Love good-morrow ! To give my Love good-morrow Notes from them all I'll borrow.
Page 110 - Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There as the mother sits all day Robert is singing with all his might Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee.
Page 62 - ... bitterness? But they desired him to let them go. With that he looked ugly upon them, and rushing to them, had doubtless made an end of them himself, but that he fell into one of his fits, (for he sometimes, in sunshiny weather, fell into fits), and lost for a time the use of his hands ; wherefore he withdrew, and left them as before to consider what to do.
Page 102 - Drink, pretty Creature, drink!" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain Lamb with a Maiden at its side. No other sheep were near, the Lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone ; With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel, While to that Mountain Lamb she gave its evening meal.
Page 191 - And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping...
Page 110 - Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee.
Page 103 - What ails thee, young one? what? why pull so at thy cord? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
Page 129 - In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade, Which a grove of myrtles made ', Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring ; Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone : She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie...
Page 91 - Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, And milk, and oats, and straw ; Thistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, On pippins...