Our Fancy Pigeons: And Rambling Notes of a Naturalist : a Record of Fifty Years' Experience in Breeding, and Observation of Nature

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E. Stock, 1890 - Birds - 313 pages

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Page 214 - O to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
Page 16 - Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
Page 296 - I hear a voice, you cannot hear, Which says, I must not stay; I see a hand, you cannot see, Which beckons me away.
Page 6 - Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, And murmured and looked with anxious pain For something the mystery to explain. The buzzard came with the throstle-cock ; The corby left her houf in the rock ; The blackbird alang wi...
Page 6 - The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew; The hind came tripping o'er the dew; The wolf and the kid their raike began, And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; The hawk and the hern...
Page 262 - Thou fliest thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail. Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year...
Page 227 - Wi' glib notes sane the Simmer's green. Sure Nature herried mony a tree, For spraings and bonny spats to thee : Nae mair the rainbow can impart Sic glowin ferlies o' her art, Whase pencil wrought its freaks at will On thee, the sey-piece o...
Page 169 - I do not like thee, Dr Fell. The reason why I cannot tell, But this I know, I know full well, I do not like thee, Dr Fell.
Page 286 - Botelier was accustomed to remark "that doubtless God might have made a better berry than the strawberry, but doubtless He never did.
Page 215 - 11 say yon grey is not the morning's eye, T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vanity heaven so high above our heads : I have more care to stay than will to go ; — Come, death, and welcome ! — Juliet wills it so.

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