Wild Scenes and Song-birds

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Leavitt and Allen, 1858 - Birds - 347 pages
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This is not a Billin & Brothers edition, but it contains a frontspiece, based on an Arthur Jacob Miller engraving, which was apparently left over from the 1854 edition printed by the Billins.
Notes
on the 1854 edition, from the Amherst College Library web site:
Contains 20 unnumbered chromolithographic plates, 13 ornithological, two floral, five of indians. Most plates designated L. N. Rosenthal Chrom Lith, (Alfred) Miller designated as the artist for the plates of Indians, Mrs. C. W. Webber for most of the others although M(?) Rosenthal for at least two. The signature of M(?) Rosenthal, presumably as lithographer, appears on the images of several plates with Miller and Mrs. Webber as the designated artist.
This work contains some of the first chromolithographic illustrations to appear in an American book, very likely the first depicting birds although preceding by only one year those that appeared in Cassin's account of the ornithology of the Gilliss expedition. These chromolithographs, printed by Rosenthal are richly colored, very distinctive and replete with panache. This is actually the second issue, distinguished from the first of the same year by correction of the designation of the number of plates from 25(incorrectly stated on title page of first issue) to 20. The work also appeared with an 1855 Riker, Thorne imprint and as a second Putnam edition in 1858. Some of the pictures appeared subsequently (1858) in a serial publication, "Leaflets of memory".
 

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Page 163 - Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine ; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
Page 49 - Thou art ! directing, guiding all, Thou art ! Direct my understanding then to Thee ; Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart Though but an atom midst immensity, Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand ! I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth, On the last verge of mortal being stand, Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land...
Page 37 - Sirens' harmony, That sit upon the nine infolded spheres, And sing to those that hold the vital shears, And turn the adamantine spindle round On which the fate of gods and men is wound. Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie, To lull the daughters of Necessity, And keep unsteady Nature to her law, And the low world in measured motion draw After the heavenly tune, which none can hear Of human mould with gross unpurged ear.
Page 173 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear: If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 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! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, • Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.
Page 301 - The unencumbered eagle rapidly advances, and is just on the point of reaching his opponent, when, with a sudden scream, probably of despair and honest execration, the latter drops his fish ; the eagle, poising himself for a moment, as if to take a more certain aim, descends like a whirlwind, snatches it in his gra?p ere it reaches the water, and bears his ill-gotten booty silently away to the woods.
Page 174 - Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place; That is fit home for Thee ! 1804.
Page 88 - ... dewy morning, while the woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers, his admirable song rises preeminent over every competitor. The ear can listen to his music alone, to which that of all the others seems a mere accompaniment.
Page 155 - True, I talk of dreams ; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
Page 300 - ... coursing along the sands ; trains of ducks streaming over the surface; silent and watchful cranes, intent and wading; clamorous crows and all the winged multitudes that subsist by the bounty of this vast liquid magazine of Nature. High over all these hovers one whose action instantly arrests all his attention.
Page 152 - Sweet, rouse yourself ; and the weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to air.

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