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How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly
In tropic splendor through our Northern sky?

At some glad moment was it nature's choice
To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice ?

Or did 'some orange tulip, flaked with black,
In some forgotten garden, ages back,

Yearning toward Heaven until its wish was heard, Desire unspeakably to be a bird ?


There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; pray you, love, remember and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 5.


With littl. here to do or see
Of things that in the great world be,
Sweet daisy ! oft I talk to thee.

For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming commonplace
Of nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace

Which love makes for thee!
To the Daisy.


As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head.

Cymbeline, AG iv. Sc. 2.




Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower But earthlier happy is the rose distilled,
Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Have passed away ; less happy than the one Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to Midsummer Night's Dream, Adt i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

The tender charm of poetry and love.

Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, Poems composed in the Summer of 1833. WORDSWORTH.

With whose sweet smell the air shall be per

fumed. We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,

King Henry VI., Part II. Art i. Sc.1. SHAKESPEARE When such are wanted. To the Daisy.

WORDSWORTH. The Frenchman's darling. *

The Task: Winter Evening.
Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the

And 't is my faith that every flower
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, Enjoys the air it breathes.
First pledge of blithesome May,

Lines written in Early Spring.

WORDSWORTH. Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they
An El Dorado in the grass have found,

Which not the rich earth's ample round
May match in wealth - thou art more dear to me I shall not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. If birds confabulate or no.
To the Dandelion

J. R. Lowell. ! 'T is clear that they were always able

To hold discourse -- at least in fable.
O Proserpina !

Pairing Time Anticipated.
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's wagon ! daffodils,

Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed. That come before the swallow dares, and take

The Village Curate

J. HURD'S. The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses,

Since o'er shady groves they hover, That die unmarried ere they can behold

And with leaves and flowers do cover Bright Phoebus in his strength - .

| The friendless bodies of unburied men. . . . bold oxlips, and

The White Devil, Adt v. Sc. 2.

J. WEBSTER. The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds. The Winter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 3 SHAKESPEARE.

What bird so sings, yet so does wail ?

0, 't is the ravished nightingale A primrose by a river's brim

Jug, jug, jug, jug-tereu --- she cries, A yellow primrose was to him,

And still her woes at midnight rise. And it was nothing more.

Brave prick-song! who is 't now we hear ? Peter Bell.

WORDSWORTH. None but the lark so shrill and clear,

Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;

The morn not waking till she sings.

Hark, hark ! but what a pretty note, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

Poor Robin-redbreast tunes his throat ; With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.

Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing Midsummer Night's Dream, Ad ii. Sc.1. SHAKESPEARE.

“Cuckoo !" to welcome in the spring. Desert caves,

| Alexander and Campaspe, Ad v. Sc. I. JOHN LYLY With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown.

• Bartlett says, " It was Cowper who gave this now common name

. Bar Lycidas.

MILTON. to the Mignonette."



O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine !

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still ; Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.

Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill! Essay on Man, Epistle I.
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day,

A poor sequestered stag,

That froin the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Portend success in love.

Did come to languish ; . . To the Nightingale.

. . . . and the big round tears

Coursed one another down his innocent nose The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark In piteous chase. When neither is attended ; and I think

As You Like It, det ii. Sc. i. . SHAKESPEARE. The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, No better a musician than the wren.

Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? How many things by season seasoned are

Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, To their right praise and true perfection.

And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Essay on Mar, Epistle I.

POPE. So, naturalists observe, a flea

Now half appeared Has smaller fleas that on him prey;

The tawny lion,* pawing to get free And these have smaller still to bite 'em ; His hinder parts, then springs as broke froin And so proceed ad infinitum.

bonds, Poetry, a Rhapsody,

Swift. And rampant shakes his brinded mane.
Paradise Lost. Book vii.

A harmless necessary cat.
Merchant of Venice, Ac ir. Sc. 1.

. See Mr. Bryant's Introduction, page 32.

Merchant of Venice, Act v. Sc.I.





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