Birds

"TURKEY, n. A large bird whose flesh when eaten on certain religious anniversaries has the peculiar property of attesting piety and gratitude. Incidentally, it is pretty good eating."

"But nope, teenage humans. The worst, most ill-conceived creatures in the universe. “Other than turkeys, right?” Yes, nothing beats those morons."

"I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country; he is a bird of bad moral character; like those among men who live by sharking and robbing, he is generally poor, and often very lousy. The turkey is a much more respectable bird."

"The very port and gait of a swan, or turkey, or peacock show the high idea he has entertain'd of himself; and his contempt of all others. This is the more remarkable, that in the two last species of animals, the pride always attends the beauty, and is discover'd in the male only."

"Turkeys are intelligent, social, curious, and sometimes even funny. I wish people were more like turkeys sometimes. … We're going to have a special celebration for turkeys this November, where we're going to hang out with turkeys, we're not going to eat them, we're just going to kind of chill, hang out, talk with the turkeys, eat a little veggies."

"Fowls of all sorts and varieties dwell at their several times and seasons here in Mary-Land: The Turkey, the Woodcock, the Pheasant, the Partrich, the Pigeon, and others, especially the Turkey, whom I have seen in whole hundreds in flights in the Woods of Mary-Land, being an extraordinary fat Fowl, whose flesh is very pleasant and sweet."

"I want our children to grow up enjoying the taste of British apples as well as Cornish sardines, Norfolk turkey, Melton Mowbray pork pies, Wensleydale cheese, Herefordshire pears and of course black pudding."

"Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix."

"First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, The scourge of England and the boast of France! Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch, Behold her statue plac'd in glory's niche; Her fetters burst, and just releas'd from prison, A virgin phoenix from her ashes risen."

"When fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast, Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last; And glory, like the phoenix midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires."

"Ask me no more if east or west The Phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies."

"And I said, I will perish with my nest, and I will multiply days as the phoenix. (Hebrew: chol)."

"The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise."

"In the sunrise … the Phoenix effect!?! Now what the heck does that mean: freaky after-image of a very freak dream … or harbinger of something worse?"

"You forget, fuzzy elf … I'm Phoenix. If I die it's only to be reborn — hopefully better and brighter than before."

"The facts in my head, they're so jumbled up … I don't know anymore what's real and what isn't — what actually happened … what's a lie. But it doesn't matter. Because the clutter doesn't affect my emotional realities — perhaps, in turn, because the Phoenix by nature responds better to feelings than rationality. I know who I am — who I care for, who I don't — that's what matters. The rest I can take or leave."

"There is another holy bird, called the Phoenix, which I have never seen but in pictures. He rarely appears in Egypt — only once in every 500 years, so they say, in Heliopolis — and he is supposed to come when his father dies. If the painter describes him truly, his plumage is part golden and part red, and he is very like an eagle in shape and size. They say that this bird comes from Arabia, bringing the body of his father embalmed in myrrh to the temple of the sun, and there he buries him. First he molds an egg of myrrh; then he puts his father in the middle of it. Lastly, he covers up the body with myrrh. This is what they say this bird does. But I do not believe them."

"A chattering crow lives out nine generations of aged men, but a stag's life is four time a crow's, and a raven's life makes three stags old, while the phoenix outlives nine ravens, but we, the rich-haired Nymphs daughters of Zeus the aegis-holder, outlive ten phoenixes."

"Do not expect again a phoenix hour, The triple-towered sky, the dove complaining, Sudden the rain of gold and heart's first ease Traced under trees by the eldritch light of sundown."

"Hurry! We burn For Rome’s so near us, for the phoenix moment When we have thrown off this traveller’s trance And mother-naked and ageless-ancient Wake in her warm nest of renaissance."

"My mom was a phoenix who always expected to rise again from the ashes of her latest disaster. And in spite of her self-doubts, she had a very strong sense of who she was. She had a sense of self-worth. She loved being Judy Garland. Did she secretly long to be Frances Gumm Somebody, Minnesota housewife? Are you kidding? She'd have run off with a vaudeville troupe just the way my grandfather did."

"Most beings spring from other individuals; but there is a certain kind which reproduces itself. The Assyrians call it the Phoenix. It does not live on fruit or flowers, but on frankincense and odoriferous gums. When it has lived five hundred years, it builds itself a nest in the branches of an oak, or on the top of a palm tree. In this it collects cinnamon, and spikenard, and myrrh, and of these materials builds a pile on which it deposits itself, and dying, breathes out its last breath amidst odors. From the body of the parent bird a young Phoenix issues forth, destined to live a life as long as its predecessor. When this has grown up and gathered sufficient strength, it lifts its nest from the tree (its own cradle and its parent’s sepulcher), and carries it to the city of Heliopolis in Egypt, and deposits it in the temple of the Sun."

"I used to watch them as a kid. My granny told me about 'em. Some cold nights you see them dancin' in the sky over the Hub, burnin' green and gold..." "Oh, you mean the aurora coriolis," said Oats, trying to make his voice sound matter of fact. "But actually that's caused by magic particles hitting the-" "Dunno what it's caused by," said Granny sharply, "but what it is is the phoenix dancin'."

"Now I will believe That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix At this hour reigning there."

"There'll be that crowd, that barbarous crowd, through all the centuries, And who can say but some young belle may walk and talk men wild Who is my beauty's equal, though that my heart denies, But not the exact likeness, the simplicity of a child, And that proud look as though she had gazed into the burning sun, And all the shapely body no tittle gone astray. I mourn for that most lonely thing; and yet God's will be done: I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day."

"Let us consider that wonderful sign [of the resurrection] which takes place in eastern lands, that is, in Arabia and the countries round about. There is a certain bird which is called a phœnix. This is the only one of its kind, and lives five hundred years. And when the time of its dissolution draws near that it must die, it builds itself a nest of frankincense, and myrrh, and other spices, into which, when the time is fulfilled, it enters and dies. But as the flesh decays a certain kind of worm is produced, which, being nourished by the juices of the dead bird, brings forth feathers. Then, when it has acquired strength, it takes up that nest in which are the bones of its parent, and bearing these it passes from the land of Arabia into Egypt, to the city called Heliopolis. And, in open day, flying in the sight of all men, it places them on the altar of the sun, and having done this, hastens back to its former abode. The priests then inspect the registers of the dates, and find that it has returned exactly as the five hundredth year was completed."

"As if the Phenix hasting to her rest Had gatherd all th’Arabian Spicerie T’enbalme her body in her Tombe, her nest,"

"The phœnix fair which rich Arabia breeds, When wasting time expires her tragedy, No more on Phœbus’ radiant rays she feeds, But heapeth up great store of spicery; And on a lofty towering cedar tree, With heavenly substance she herself consumes, From whence she young again appears to be, Out of the cinders of her peerless plumes."

"LET the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey."

"A slender young Blackbird built in a thorn-tree: A spruce little fellow as ever could be; His bill was so yellow, his feathers so black, So long was his tail, and so glossy his back, That good Mrs. B., who sat hatching her eggs, And only just left them to stretch her poor legs, And pick for a minute the worm she preferred, Thought there never was seen such a beautiful bird."

"There always seems to be a kneejerk response to blame environmental pollutants, but collisions with infrastructure are very common. In a tightly packed flock, the birds are following the movements of the bird in front rather than actually interpreting their wider surroundings, so it isn’t unexpected that such events happen occasionally."

"The birds have ceased their songs, All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash, 'Mid Pinkie's greenery, from his mellow throat, In adoration of the setting sun, Chants forth his evening hymn."

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise."

"Golden Bill! Golden Bill! Lo, the peep of day; All the air is cool and still. From the elm-tree on the hill, Chant away: * * * * * Let thy loud and welcome lay Pour alway Few notes but strong."

"Among twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the blackbird."

"A man and a woman Are one. A man and a woman and a blackbird Are one."

"O Blackbird! sing me something well: While all the neighbors shoot thee round, I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell."

"So the Bluebirds have contracted, have they, for a house? And a next is under way for little Mr. Wren?" "Hush, dear, hush! Be quiet, dear! quiet as a mouse. These are weighty secrets, and we must whisper them."

"prot told me to find the Bluebird of Happiness … Its a task. The first of three."

"In the thickets and the meadows Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa. On the summit of the lodges Sang the robin, the Opechee."

"I know that you are looking for the Blue Bird, that is to say, the great secret of things and of happiness, so that Man may make our servitude still harder."

"Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, The hue of May. Warbler, why speed thy southern flight? ah, why, Thou too, whose song first told us of the Spring? Whither away?"

"The birds can fly, an' why can't I? Must we give in," says he with a grin, "That the bluebird an' phœbe are smarter 'n we be?"

"Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note; Braggarts and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat."

"Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders and white his crest."

"One day in the bluest of summer weather, Sketching under a whispering oak, I heard five bobolinks laughing together, Over some ornithological joke."

"When Nature had made all her birds, With no more cares to think on, She gave a rippling laugh and out There flew a Bobolinkon."

"The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate, Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight."

"Out of the fragrant heart of bloom, The bobolinks are singing; Out of the fragrant heart of bloom The apple-tree whispers to the room, "Why art thou but a nest of gloom While the bobolinks are singing?""

"... On several occasions I have seen a cuckoo mobbed by small birds, and it would be pleasant to think it was done as a protest on the part of decent bird-society against a disgusting anti-social parasite. But the probability is that they mistake the cuckoo for a hawk."

"The Attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note."

"And now I hear its voice again, And still its message is of peace, It sings of love that will not cease, For me it never sings in vain."

"Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the spring."

"Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year."

"The cuckoo builds not for himself."

"And being fed by us you used us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow."

"The cuckoo then on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear."

"The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded."

"While I deduce, From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, The symphony of spring."

"List—'twas the cuckoo—O, with what delight Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though faint, Far off and faint, and melting into air, Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again! Those louder cries give notice that the bird, Although invisible as Echo's self, Is wheeling hitherward."

"O blithe New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice; O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?"

"The ostrich [with] her eggs on the hillside. She receives those eggs as something to carry: the bird knows how to keep watch at night."

"Prince Edward all in gold, as he great Jove had been, The Mountfords all in plumes, like estridges were seen."

"Like the ostrich, head under wing When the roaring storm breaks, So many people take refuge Under the soft pillow Of specious arguments."

"Rahel could see it coursing through his veins, as clearly as an egg travelling down an ostrich's neck."

"All furnish'd, all in arms; All plum'd, like estridges that with the wind Baited, like eagles having lately bath'd."

"“That’s The Goose,” he said. The way he said it, I could hear the capitals. I stared at it. It looked like any other goose, fat, self-satisfied and short-tempered."

"I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear. Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear; Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring, So screams a goose where swans melodious sing."

"GOOSE, n. A bird that supplies quills for writing. These, by some occult process of nature, are penetrated and suffused with various degrees of the bird's intellectual energies and emotional character, so that when inked and drawn mechanically across paper by a person called an "author," there results a very fair and accurate transcript of the fowl's thought and feeling. The difference in geese, as discovered by this ingenious method, is considerable: many are found to have only trivial and insignificant powers, but some are seen to be very great geese indeed."

"鹅 鹅 鹅， 曲 项 向 天 歌。 白 毛 浮 绿 水， 红 掌 拨 清 波。"

"Mankind naturally and generally love to be flatter'd: Whatever sooths our Pride, and tends to exalt our Species above the rest of the Creation, we are pleas'd with and easily believe, when ungrateful Truths shall be with the utmost Indignation rejected. "What! bring ourselves down to an Equality with the Beasts of the Field! with the meanest part of the Creation! 'Tis insufferable!" But, (to use a Piece of common Sense) our Geese are but Geese tho' we may think 'em Swans; and Truth will be Truth tho' it sometimes prove mortifying and distasteful."

"A fox should not be of the jury at a goose's trial."

"Shall I, like Curtius, desperate in my zeal, O'er head and ears plunge for the common weal? Or rob Rome's ancient geese of all their glories, And cackling save the monarchies of Tories?"

"As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, Rising and cawing at the gun's report, Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky."

"Idem Accio quod Titio jus esto."

"When the chicklet crieth in the egg-shell, Thou givest him breath therein, to preserve him alive. When thou hast perfected him That he may pierce the egg, He cometh forth from the egg, To chirp with all his might; He runneth about upon his two feet, When he hath come forth therefrom."

": Thou shalt eat no fantastical porridge, Nor lick the dish where oil was yesterday, Dust, and dead flies to-day; capons, fat capons— : Oh, hearty sound! : Cramm'd full of itching oysters."

"For Pigeons' flesh he seems not much to care; Cram'd Chickens are a more delicious fare."

"Plover, partridge, for your dinner, And a capon for the sinner."

"Chickens may be capable of affection or loyalty or maybe even pride, but if so, they feel these feelings in an ancient and birdlike way, like glassy-eyed visitors from another world."

"Along with its aggressive streak, the Chicken also seemed to have an appetite for play. Was it pure coincidence that she liked to sneak up on Yowzer, the cat most likely to develop a nervous twitch when caught unawares? Time after time I saw the Chicken trot up delicately when Yowzer had his back turned, squawk a couple of times, and then watch as the cat leaped a couple of vertical feet. The Chicken, after a successful ambush, would run off jauntily, with a cackle that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle."

"They are very frightening for me because their stupidity is so flat. You look into the eyes of a chicken and you lose yourself in a completely flat, frightening stupidity. They are like a great metaphor for me... I kind of love chicken, but they frighten me more than any other animal."

"The domesticated chicken is the most widespread fowl ever."

"The lovers come near and far, And envy the chicken That Peggy is pickin’, As she sits in the low-backed car."

"But when the long hours of Public are past And we meet with Champaign and a Chicken at last, May every fond Pleasure that hour endear."

"Then there are those proverbial “bird brains” of the barnyard, chickens, surely the most maligned and abused animal on the face of the earth, and—just as surely—among the brightest, most social birds we'll find anywhere. ... Chickens not only are capable of learning, they are also capable of teaching one another. It turns out that chickens are not as dumb as popular mythology makes them out to be."

"Nort had chickens, I had cocks, Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks."

"Fair round belly with good capon lined."

"Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon’s leg?"

"It may be the cock that crows, but it is the hen that lays the eggs."

"Thither the houshold feathery people crowd, The crested cock, with all his female train."

"I have a gentil cock, Crowyt me day. He doth me rysyn erly, My matyins for to say. His legges ben of asor, So geintil and so smale. His spores arn of sylver qwyt, In to the wortėwale. His eynyn arn of cristal, Lokyn al in aumbyr, And every nyght he perchit hym In myn ladyis chaumbyr."

"Good-morrow to thy sable beak, And glossy plumage, dark and sleek, Thy crimson moon and azure eye, Cock of the heath, so wildly shy!"

"The game-cock dipt and arm’d for fight Does the rising sun affright."

"She hadde a cok, hight Chauntecleer, In al the land of crowing nas his peer. His vois was merier than the mery orgon On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon; Wel sikerer was his crowing in his logge, Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge."

"His comb was redder than the fyn coral, And batailed, as it were a castel-wal. His bile was blak, and as the jeet it shoon; Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon; His nayles whytter than the lilie flour, And lyk the burned gold was his colour."

"The cock’s shrill clarion."

"The cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack or the barn door Stoutly struts his dames before."

"The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day."

"The early village cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn."

"Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, cock-a-diddle-dow."

"A vet’ran, brave, majestic Cock, Who serv’d for hour glass, guard, and clock, Who crow’d the mansion’s first relief, Alike from goblin and from thief; Whose youth escap’d the Christmas skillet, Whose vigour brav’d the Shrovetide billet."

"This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce, Whiche were his sustres and his paramours, And wonder lyk to him, as of colours. Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote."

"Alas! my child, where is the Pen That can do justice to the Hen? Like Royalty, she goes her way, Laying foundations every day, Though not for Public Buildings, yet For Custard, Cake and Omelette. Or if too old for such a use They have their fling at some abuse As when to censure Plays Unfit Upon the stage they make a Hit Or at elections seal the Fate Of an Obnoxious Candidate. No wonder, Child, we prize the Hen, Whose Egg is Mightier than the Pen."

"Recently, while I was in the street, my eye was caught by a poulterer's shop; I stared unthinkingly at his piled-up wares, neatly and appetizingly laid out, when I became aware of a man at the side busily plucking a hen, while another man was just putting his hand in a cage, where he seized a live hen and tore its head off. The hideous scream of the animal, and the pitiful, weaker sounds of complaint that it made while being overpowered transfixed my soul with horror. Ever since then I have been unable to rid myself of this impression, although I had experienced it often before."

"I have looked attentively at chickens raised in this battery] fashion, and to me they seem to be unhappy and in poor health. Their combs are dull and lifeless except for glaring and unnatural patches of color that appear occasionally ... The battery chickens I have observed seem to lose their minds about the time they would normally be weaned by their mothers and off in the weeds chasing grasshoppers on their own account. Yes, literally, actually, the battery becomes a gallinaceous madhouse. The eyes of these chickens through the bars gleam like those of maniacs. Let your hand get within reach and it receives a dozen vicious peeks—not the love peck or the tentative peek of idle curiosity bestowed by the normal chicken, but a peck that means business, a peck for flesh and blood, for which in their madness they are thirsting."

"Our appetite for meat leads to widespread, horrific cruelty to animals—chickens pressed wing-to-wing into filthy sheds and debeaked, for example. ... These chickens never raise families, root in the soil, build nests, or do anything natural. … Animals have feelings, they suffer; they have needs and desires. They were created by God to breathe fresh air, raise their families, peck in the grass, or root in the soil. Today's farms don't let them do anything God designed them to do. Animal scientists attest that farm animals have personalities and interests, that chickens and pigs can be smarter than dogs and cats. I like that even Jesus identified himself as “a mother hen who longs to gather us under her wings.”"

"Ten thousand years ago it was a rare bird confined to small niches of South Asia. Today billions of chickens live on almost every continent and island, bar Antarctica. The domesticated chicken is probably the most widespread bird in the annals of planet Earth. If you measure success in terms of numbers, chickens, cows and pigs are the most successful animals ever. Alas, domesticated species paid for their unparalleled collective success with unprecedented individual suffering."

"The worst torture to which a battery hen is exposed is the inability to retire somewhere for the laying act. For the person who knows something about animals it is truly heart-rending to watch how a chicken tries again and again to crawl beneath her fellow-cage mates to search there in vain for cover."

"I didn't even know that chickens could fly, and suddenly one was landing on me. It happened when I was visiting a farm sanctuary. If I had been younger I would have asked my parents if I could take her home, please! After all, she chose me. Never mind that she chose everybody; she was a particularly friendly chicken. She made soft, strange cooing sounds and nestled into my arms like a happy kitten. … In fact she was an ordinary chicken, but simply one who had no reason to believe that people were after her. This is how chickens and humans would relate to one another if one was not exploited and the other doing the exploiting. Very much like cats and dogs. They just wait for the chance."

"Perhaps if we had realized they are birds, with all the wonderful characteristics of birds, we would have paid closer attention to the ways in which chickens can enchant us. Take dust-bathing, for example. We call it a bath because the chicken finds a small indentation of dry earth and then proceeds to immerse herself in it as into a warm bath. The earth cleans her feathers. The first time I saw a chicken taking a dust bath, stretching out one iridescent wing and holding it up to the sunshine, then settling into the warmth of the afternoon only to fly effortlessly to a tree to roost in the evening, I was astonished."

"Eggs are generally considered kosher, but what about eggs from chickens who spend their entire lives imprisoned in a cage one cubic foot in size? Food pellets are brought to them on one conveyor belt; their droppings and eggs are taken away on another. The Bible forbids us to torment animals or cause them any unnecessary grief. Raising chickens who can go out sometimes and see the sky or eat a worm or blade of grass is one thing, but manufacturing them in the concentration camp conditions of contemporary "poultry ranches" is quite another."

"I am a vegetarian for health reasons—the health of the chicken."

"In my backyard in north Texas On the hottest summer night Hummingbirds fall all around us Their hearts stopped beating in mid-flight."

"Across the downs a hummingbird Came dipping through the bowers, He pivoted on emptiness To scrutinize the flowers."

"The male is colored much more gorgeously than the female so that he can be shot and made into feather embroidery."

"[Footnote:] Much still remains to be learned about his sex life because the Hummingbird is quicker than the eye."

"The restless activity and general appearance of the Humming-bird make one almost hesitate to believe that it is really a bird and not a brilliant tropical insect. It possesses no ; few people see it except on the wing, and its is so rarely found that to most people the bird is merely a sudden apparition, seen hovering over a flower, its ruby throat sparkling in the sun. When the Humming-bird's nest is discovered, it turns out to be a structure as delicate and rare as its little architect. It is often fixed on a -covered twig, frequently in s, but as often on tall forest trees. To the outside of the nest, bits of gray lichen are fastened, so that at a distance the nest is mistaken for a knob of the twig itself. The eggs are always two, ridiculously small, like s."

"My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—equal seekers of sweetness."

"Hummingbirds, like all Neotropical migrants, don't recognize any borders, boundaries, or countries; they consider all of the Americas their home, nesting in the northern part of their range and wintering in the southern part."

"Jewelled coryphée With quivering wings like shielding gauze outspread."

"Quick as a humming bird is my love, Dipping into the hearts of flowers— She darts so eagerly, swiftly, sweetly Dipping into the flowers of my heart."

"And the humming-bird that hung Like a jewel up among The tilted honeysuckle horns They mesmerized and swung In the palpitating air, Drowsed with odors strange and rare, And, with whispered laughter, slipped away And left him hanging there."

"A flash of harmless lightning, A mist of rainbow dyes, The burnished sunbeams brightening From flower to flower he flies."

"I have heard the nightingale herself."

"Hark! ah, the nightingale— The tawny-throated! Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst! What triumph! hark!—what pain! * * * * * * Listen, Eugenia— How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves! Again—thou hearest? Eternal passion! Eternal pain!"

"For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, So poets live upon the living light."

"As it fell upon a day 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."

"It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word."

"The holy nightingale Winds up his long, long shakes of ecstasy, With notes that seem but the protracted sounds Of glassy runnels bubbling over rocks."

"Birds of the wilderness! Ye woodland choristers of many dyes! Wake ye not in the night at my distress, Poured forth more deep than all your melodies? How can ye sleep beneath the boundless sea Of my soul's grief poured forth in melody?"

""Most musical, most melancholy" bird! A melancholy bird! Oh! idle thought! In nature there is nothing melancholy."

"'Tis the merry nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music!"

"I said to the Nightingale: "Hail, all hail! Pierce with thy trill the dark, Like a glittering music-spark, When the earth grows pale and dumb.""

"Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale, The sweetest singer in all the forest choir, Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love’s tale: Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier."

"Westminster Hall itself is a shady solitude where nightingales might sing."

"Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, Of winter's past or coming void of care, Well pleaséd with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers."

"Vox, philomela, tua cantus edicere cogit, Inde tui laudem rustica lingua canit."

"Like a wedding-song all-melting Sings the nightingale, the dear one."

"The nightingale appear'd the first, And as her melody she sang, The apple into blossom burst, To life the grass and violets sprang."

"Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth."

"Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown."

"Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?"

"Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, To the inward ear devout, Touched by light, with heavenly warning Your transporting chords ring out. Every leaf in every nook, Every wave in every brook, Chanting with a solemn voice Minds us of our better choice."

"To-night, beneath an operatic moon I listened to the flattered nightingale, Ornate, melodious, impeccable— Round notes of fluted silver soft as dew— The soul of Tennyson become a bird."

"To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep."

"What bird so sings, yet does so wail? O, 'tis the ravish'd nightingale— Jug, jug, jug, jug—tereu—she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise."

"Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song."

"O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly hours lead on propitious May."

"Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love."

"—————As the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, Tunes her nocturnal note."

"John Milton, Paradise Lost (1674) Book III"

"Yon nightingale, whose strain so sweetly flows, Mourning her ravish'd young or much-loved mate, A soothing charm o'er all the valleys throws And skies, with notes well tuned to her sad state."

"Have ye seen the ethereal blue Gently shedding silvery dew, Spangling o’er the silent green, While the nightingale, unseen, To the moon and stars, full bright, Lonesome chants the hymn of night?"

"The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, The moonrise wakes the nightingale. Come, darkness, moonrise, everything That is so silent, sweet, and pale: Come, so ye wake the nightingale."

"Hark! that's the nightingale, Telling the self-same tale Her song told when this ancient earth was young: So echoes answered when her song was sung In the first wooded vale."

"Ἦρος ἄγγελος ἰμερόφωνος ἀήδων."

"O Nightingale, Cease from thy enamoured tale."

"One nightingale in an interfluous wood Satiate the hungry dark with melody."

"The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are To their right praise, and true perfection!"

"Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale."

"Our love was new, and then but in the spring, When I was wont to greet it with my lays; As Philomel in summer’s front doth sing, And stops her pipe in growth of riper days."

"The nightingale as soon as April bringeth Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, While late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth, Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making. And mournfully bewailing, Her throat in tunes expresseth What grief her breast oppresseth."

"Where beneath the ivy shade, In the dew-besprinkled glade, Many a love-lorn nightingale, Warbles sweet her plaintive tale."

"Lend me your song, ye Nightingales! O, pour The mazy-running soul of melody Into my varied verse."

"En la huerta nasce la rosa: quiérome ir allá por mirar al ruiseñor cómo cantavá."

"Under der linden An der heide, Dâ unser zweier bette was, Dâ muget ir vinden Schône beide Gebrochen bluomen unde gras. Vor dem walde in einem tal, Tandaradei, Schône sanc diu nahtegal."

"Last night the nightingale woke me, Last night, when all was still. It sang in the golden moonlight, From out the woodland hill."

"As the partridge sitteth on eggs, and hatcheth them not; so he that getteth riches, and not by right, shall leave them in the midst of his days, and at his end shall be a fool."

"A Fowler caught a Partridge, and was about to kill it. The Partridge earnestly besought him to spare his life, saying, "Pray, master, permit me to live, and I will entice many Partridges to you in recompense for your mercy to me." The Fowler replied, "I shall now with the less scruple take your life: because you are willing to save it at the cost of betraying your friends and relations.""

"It is a bird of an evil and cunning disposition. In the spring they separate with singing and fighting into pairs with the females which each may happen to take. The partridge being a bird of violent passions, it tries to prevent the female from incubation by rolling and breaking the eggs, if it can find them. The female, opposing this artifice by another, lays her eggs as she runs, and often, from her desire of laying, she drops her eggs wherever she may be, if the male is present; and, that they may all be preserved, she does not return to them. If she is observed by men, she leads them away from her eggs as from her young ones, and shows herself just before them until they are drawn away from the nest."

"Partridges, when, accompanied by their young, they are being pursued, allow the fledglings to fly ahead and attempt to escape, and contrive to fix the hunter’s attention on themselves by wheeling close and, when they are almost captured, fly off and away, then again remain at rest and place themselves within the reach of the hunter’s hope, until, by so exposing themselves to danger for their nestlings’ safety, they have led on the hunters to a considerable distance."

"Partridges​ exhibit another piece of cunning, combined with affection for their young. They teach their fledglings, who are not yet able to fly, to lie on their backs when they are pursued and to keep above them as a screen some piece of turf or rubbish. The mothers meanwhile lure the hunters in another direction and divert attention to themselves, fluttering along at their feet and rising only briefly until, by making it seem that they are on the point of being captured, they draw them far away from their young."

"If [the magistrate] discovers a young man in the house of a rich and elderly woman, waxing fat, like a cock-partridge, in her service, he will remove him and give him to some marriageable maid that wants a husband."

"Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe,"

"Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?"

"Like as a feareful partridge, that is fledd From the sharpe hauke which her attacked neare, And falls to ground to seeke for succor theare, Whereas the hungry spaniells she does spye, With greedy jawes her ready for to teare."

"On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me A partridge in a pear tree."

"I like the blackbird’s shriek, and his rush From the turnips as I pass by, And the partridge hiding her head in a bush For her young ones cannot fly."

"Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!—'Tis no sport for peasants."

"Or have you mark'd a partridge quake, Viewing the towering falcon nigh? She cuddles low behind the brake: Nor would she stay; nor dares she fly."

"So have the peahens three-times-seven, so have the maiden Sisters Seven Carried thy venom far away, as girls bear water in their jars."

"COME hither, Indra, with Bay Steeds, joyous, with tails like peacocks' plumes. Let no men cheek thy course as fowlers stay the bird: pass o’er them as o’er desert lands."

"Yoked to thy chariot wrought of gold, may thy two Bays with peacock tails, Convey thee hither, Steeds with their white backs, to quaff sweet juice that makes us eloquent."

"The peacock spends the day keeping watch. The holy bird, the peacock, spends the day calling "haya!". A bird red from cornelian, blue from lapis lazuli, white from chalcedony, with all kinds of gold, and leather inlaid with gold -- may the coppersmith fashion the peacock for you thus."

"The very port and gait of a Duck, or Chicken, or peacock show the high idea he has entertain'd of himself; and his contempt of all others. This is the more remarkable, that in the two last species of animals, the pride always attends the beauty, and is discover'd in the male only."

"Too much tail. All that jewelry weighs it down. Like vanity. Can't nobody fly with all that shit. Wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down."

"Both the peacock and the chicken passed through [Mesopotamia] on their way westward[;] the Sumerians called the chicken ‘ the bird from Meluhha’ and the Syrians called it the ‘Akkadian bird’."

"For Sheer attractiveness,adorning ability,and adaptability,the Indian peafowl is clearly unsurpassable and incomparable.No other bird can claim such Triple'A' ranking.Regal and resplendent,yet common and plebian,it stands in a class of its own,a true symbol of India in all its beauty and colourful splendour.It is rightly the National Bird of India"

"There is not a single cultural element of Central Asian, Eastern European or Caucasian origin in the archaeological culture of the Mittanian area [….] But there is one element novel to Iraq in Mittanian culture and art, which is later on observed in Iranian culture until the Islamisation of Iran: the peacock, one of the two elements of the 'Senmurv', the lion-peacock of the Sassanian art. The first clear pictures showing peacocks in religious context in Mesopotamia are the Nuzi cylinder seals of Mittanian time. There are two types of peacocks: the griffin with a peacock head and the peacock dancer, masked and standing beside the holy tree of life. The veneration of the peacock could not have been brought by the Mittanians from Central Asia or South-Eastern Europe; they must have taken it from the East, as peacocks are the type-bird of India and peacock dancers are still to be seen all over India. The earliest examples are known from the Harappan culture, from Mohenjo-daro and Harappa: two birds sitting on either side of the first tree of life are painted on ceramics. [….] The religious role of the peacock in India and the Indian-influenced Buddhist art in China and Japan need not be questioned" .... "The peacock was therefore subordinated to Indra and connected with the thunderbolt, so that in some Buddhist images Indra is sitting on a peacock throne. It is even possible to trace the peacock as the 'animal of the battle' in Elam till the late 3rd millennium B.C - if it is possible to identify two figured poles from Susa with 'peacock' symbols" ... "Yet the development of the Andronovo culture did not start before 1650-1600 B.C. So that we are forced to accept that the Indo-Aryans in what is now Iran, especially Eastern Iran before 1600 B.C., were under the Indian influence for such a long period that they could have taken over the peacock veneration. In that case, they could not be part of the Andronovo culture, but should have come to Iran centuries before, at the time when the Hittites came to Anatolia."

""The peacock is a native to India, which seems to be the source of most peacock motifs [….] The name mayura may have some connection with magyar, which is the self-name of the Hungarians [….] Some Indian song was the likely common origin of both folksong 95 and folksong D because of the Hindu mythological elements found in the latter two. In particular, a possible origin may be the Vedic hymn of the Vena bird (Rig Veda book 10, hymn 123) [….] Uralic linguistics identified a set of words that reflect borrowings [….] The people who brought these words with them and merged with the Proto-Hungarians at some point in history also may have brought with them the peacock motifs and part of the Rig Vedic oral tradition"."

"For everything seemed resting on his nod, As they could read in all eyes. Now to them, Who were accustomed, as a sort of god, To see the sultan, rich in many a gem, Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad (That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,) With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt How power could condescend to do without."

"To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require; The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail."

"To Paradise, the Arabs say, Satan could never find the way Until the peacock led him in."

""Fly pride," says the peacock."

"Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while And like a peacock sweep along his tail."

"Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock,—a stride and a stand."

"And there they placed a peacock in his pride, Before the damsel."

"The pelican came forth from the holy reed-beds. It came forth from the holy reed-beds. The wise pelican spent the day high in the skies. The pelican cried out in the sky: its singing was sweet and its voice was pleasing."

"Nance, delighting in her pelican, erected a lapis lazuli shrine, and set the holy pelican by her feet."

"Pie Pelicane, Jesu Domine,"

"A wonderful bird is the pelican, His bill will hold more than his belican, He can take in his beak Enough food for a week But I'm damned if I see how the helican!"

"Nature's prime favourites were the Pelicans; High-fed, long-lived, and sociable and free."

"Nimbly they seized and secreted their prey, Alive and wriggling in the elastic net, Which Nature hung beneath their grasping beaks; Till, swoln with captures, the unwieldy burden Clogg'd their slow flight, as heavily to land, These mighty hunters of the deep return'd. There on the cragged cliffs they perch'd at ease, Gorging their hapless victims one by one; Then full and weary, side by side, they slept, Till evening roused them to the chase again."

"The nursery of brooding Pelicans, The dormitory of their dead, had vanish'd, And all the minor spots of rock and verdure, The abodes of happy millions, were no more."

"What, wouldst thou have me turn pelican, and feed thee out of my own vitals?"

"By them there sat the loving pelican, Whose young ones, poison'd by the serpent's sting, With her own blood to life again doth bring."

"The Dove, On silver pinions, winged her peaceful way."

"Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky; Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves, When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves."

"Anon, as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclosed, His silence will sit drooping."

"The dove and very blessed spirit of peace."

"So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows."

"And there my little doves did sit With feathers softly brown And glittering eyes that showed their right To general Nature's deep delight."

"The thrustelcok made eek hir lay, The wode dove upon the spray She sang ful loude and cleere."

"As when the dove returning bore the mark Of earth restored to the long labouring ark; The relics of mankind, secure at rest, Oped every window to receive the guest, And the fair bearer of the message bless'd."

"Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song, And spread thy golden wings in me; Hatching my tender heart so long, Till it get wing, and flie away with Thee."

"We roar all like bears, and mourn sore like doves."

"See how that pair of billing doves With open murmurs own their loves And, heedless of censorious eyes, Pursue their unpolluted joys: No fears of future want molest The downy quiet of their nest."

"Ut solet accipiter trepidas agitare columbas."

"Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest."

"And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan."

"I heard a Stock-dove sing or say His homely tale, this very day; His voice was buried among trees, Yet to be come at by the breeze: He did not cease; but cooed—and cooed; And somewhat pensively he wooed: He sang of love, with quiet blending, Slow to begin, and never ending; Of serious faith, and inward glee; That was the song,—the song for me!"

"Since balloons could not be flown back into Paris due to their erratic and uncontrollable flight patterns, the only means of getting information... was the carrier pigeon. Pigeons had been used to convey messages since antiquity, and a pigeon post... operated as late as 1850 by Paul Julius Reuter... proved... swifter than the railway in carrying stock prices between Brussels and . The carrier pigeons used in the Siege of Paris were able to carry much more information thanks to... microphotography invented by . In 1859 Dragon had received a patent for microfilm, and over the next decade he produced... photographs shrunk to fit inside jewels, signet rings [etc.]... He also developed... a profitable sideline in pornography... enjoyed with the aid of a special magnifying viewer. During the siege, Dagron turned.. to more patriotic endeavors. ...photographing government dispatches, shrinking them.., printing them on lightweight membranes.., and fitting as many as 40,000... into a canister strapped to the legs of a single carrier pigeon. The pigeons... encountering on their return to Paris... falcons specially trained by the Prussians. ...[T]he pigeons also carried personal communications."

"Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there; My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit, Their branches spread a city to the air."

"With his mouth full of news Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young."

"Thou pigeon-egg of discretion."

"This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease."

"The wood pigeon's voice is the glory of the garden."

"'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat; There's a human look in its swelling breast, And the gentle curve of its lowly crest; And I often stop with the fear I feel— He runs so close to the rapid wheel."

"When you prepare your breakfast, think upon others Do not forget to feed the pigeons."

"Raven, raven, your eggs are shining bright! Raven bird, your eggs are shining bright! Where do people carry off your holy eggs?"

"That Raven on yon left-hand oak (Curse on his ill-betiding croak) Bodes me no good."

"Despite all the caveats about the particular corvid or crow-like bird that may be called a "raven" (two species in North America, one in Europe, four in Africa, and three in Australia), in the public consciousness of Europe and America and in most of the extensive literature, raven refers to one species only: '. It is this species that is the primary object of comment and observations in folklore ... The raven, C. corax, occupies an extraordinary geographical and ecological range. It is circumpolar, found even above the and all the way south to the mountains of ."

"Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Gathered all his black marauders, Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens, Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops."

"The Raven's house is built with reeds,— Sing woe, and alas is me! And the Raven's couch is spread with weeds, High on the hollow tree; And the Raven himself, telling his beads In penance for his past misdeeds, Upon the top I see."

"The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast, Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl His tongue, his prating tongue had changed him quite To sooty blackness from the purest white."

"Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly shore,— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore! Quoth the Raven "Nevermore!""

"And the Raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor, And my soul from out that shadow, That lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted—nevermore."

"The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge."

"The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements."

"O, it comes o'er my memory, As doth the raven o'er the infected house, Boding to all."

"Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?"

"In the centre of this grove there stood an , which, though shapely and tall on the whole, bulged out into a large excrescence about the middle of the stem. On this a pair of ravens had fixed their residence for such a series of years, that the oak was distinguished by the title of the Raven Tree. Many were the attempts of the neighbouring youths to get at this eyre: the difficulty whetted their inclinations, and each was ambitious of surmounting the arduous task. But when they arrived at the swelling, it jutted out so in their way, and was so far beyond their grasp, that the most daring lads were awed, and acknowledged the undertaking to be too hazardous. So the ravens built on, nest upon nest, in perfect security, till the fatal day arrived in which the wood was to be levelled. It was in the month of February, when those birds usually sit. The saw was applied to the but, the wedges were inserted into the opening, the woods echoed to the heavy blows of the beetle, or mallet, the tree nodded to its fall; but still the dam sat on. At last, when it gave way, the bird was flung from her nest; and, though her parental affection deserved a better fate, was whipped down by the twigs, which brought her dead to the ground."

"“Ah, wretched me!” he loudly cried, “What is it I have done? O, would to the Powers above I’d dyed When thus I left her alone:Come, come, you gentle redbreast now, And prepare for us a tomb, Whilst unto cruel death I bow, And sing like a swan my doom.”"

"Come, gentle death, and end my grief; Ye pretty birds ring forth my knell; Let robin redbreast be the chief To bury me, and so farewell."

"No burial this pretty pair From any man receives, Till robin redbreast, piously, Did cover them with leaves."

"The robin and the wren Are God’s cock and hen; The martin and the swallow Are God’s mate and marrow."

"The tune is solemn, as if set To fit some doleful ditty; In lamentation for the Queen To move all hearts to pity. * * * I call it he, not she, because It sings and cocks its tail; Which that no female robin doth, I'll hold a pot of ale. * * * Some say this bird an angel is; If so, we hope ’tis good. But why an angel? Why, forsooth They say he takes no food.But that the robin lives by meat Is true without dispute; For tho’ none ever saw him eat, Enough have seen him mute.And that sometimes undecently, Upon the statue-royal, Which made some call him Jacobite, Or otherwise illoyal. * * * The robin may have lost his mate, So hath King William his; And that he well may match again Our hearty prayer is."

"It was on the day when Lord Jesus felt his pain upon the bitter cross of wood that a small and tender bird, which had hovered awhile around, drew nigh, about the seventh hour, and nestled upon the wreath of Syrian thorns. And when the gentle creature of the air beheld those cruel spikes, the thirty and three, which pierced that bleeding brow, she was moved with compassion and the piety of birds; and she sought to turn aside, if but one of those thorns, with her fluttering wings and her lifted feet! It was in vain! She did but rend her own soft breast, until blood flowed over her feathers from the wound! Then said a voice from among the angels: ‘Thou hast done well, sweet daughter of the boughs! Yea, and I bring thee tidings of reward: Henceforth, from this very hour, and because of this deed of thine, it shall be that, in many a land, thy race and kind shall bear upon their bosoms the hue and banner of thy faithful blood; and the children of every house shall yearn with a natural love towards the birds of the ruddy breast, and shall greet their presence, in its season, with a voice of thanksgiving!’"

"Said the Prior: 'God will help us In this hour of bitter loss.' Then, one spied a Robin Redbreast Sitting on a wayside cross.Doubtless came the bird in answer To the words the Prior did speak, For a heavy wheat-ear dangled From the Robin's polished beak.Then the brothers, as he dropped it, Picked it up and careful sowed, And abundantly in autumn Reaped the harvest where they strewed.* * * * * Therefore, Christian, small beginnings Pass not by with lip of scorn; God may prosper them, as prospered Robin Redbreast's ear of corn."

"A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all Heaven in a rage."

"A little robin sitting on a tree In doleful notes bewailed her tragedy."

"The woodman’s robin startles coy, Nor longer to his elbow comes, To peck, with hunger’s eager joy, ’Mong mossy stulps the littered crumbs. * * * And oft Dame stops her buzzing wheel To hear the robin’s note once more, Who tootles while he pecks his meal From sweetbrier hips beside the door."

"The redbreast oft, at evening hours, Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid."

"Thus I would waste, thus end my careless days, And robin redbreasts, whom men praise For pious birds, should, when I die, Make both my monument and elegy."

"They that cheer up a prisoner but with their sight are robin redbreasts that bring straws in their bills to cover a dead man in extremity!"

"Hail, Bishop Valentine! whose day this is; All the air is thy diocese, And all the chirping choristers And other birds are thy parishioners; Thou marriest every year The lyric lark, and the grave, whispering dove; The sparrow that neglects his life for love, The household bird with [the] red stomacher."

"Covering with moss the dead’s unclosed eye, The little redbreast teacheth charitie."

"Did you ever see two such little robin ruddocks Laden with breeches?"

"Or as the red breast byrds, Whome prettie merlynes hold, Ful fast in foote, by winter’s night To fende themselves from colde.Though afterwards the hauke For pitie let them scape, Yet al that day they fede in feare, And doubt a second rape.And in the nexter night, Ful many times do crie, Remembering yet the ruthful plight Wherein they late did lye."

"There scattered oft, the earliest of the year, By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; The redbreast loves to build and warble there, And little footsteps lightly print the ground."

"Laid out for dead, let thy last kindnesse be With leaves and moss-worke for to cover me; And while the wood-nimphs my cold corse inter, Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister! For epitaph, in foliage, next write this Here, here, the tomb of Robin Herrick is."

"When I departed am, ring thou my knell, Thou pittifull and pretty Philomel; And when I’m laid out for a corse, then be Thou sexton, redbreast, for to cover me."

"Sweet Amarillis, by a spring’s Soft and soule-melting murmurings Slept; and thus sleeping, thither flew A robin redbreast, who at view, Not seeing her at all to stir, Brought leaves and mosse to cover her; But while he, perking, there did prie About the arch of either eye, The lid began to let out day, At which poore robin flew away; And seeing her not dead, but all disleaved, He chirpt for joy to see himself deceived."

"Oh, remember this, He that does good deeds here waits at a table Where angels are his fellow-servitors. TORENTI: I am no robin redbreast to bring straws To cover such a corse."

"Now Cador’s corse he viewed, With hoary moss and faded leaves bestrewed; In days of old not yet did we invade The harmless tenants of the woodland shade. The crimson-breasted warbler o’er the slain, While frequent rose his melancholy strain, With pious care, ’twas all he could, supplied The funeral rites by ruthless man denied."

"Bearing His cross, while Christ passed forth forlorn, His God-like forehead by the mock crown torn, A little bird took from that crown one thorn. To soothe the dear Redeemer's throbbing head, That bird did what she could; His blood, 'tis said, Down dropping, dyed her tender bosom red. Since then no wanton boy disturbs her nest; Weasel nor wild cat will her young molest; All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast."

"On fair Britannia's isle, bright bird, A legend strange is told of thee.— 'Tis said thy blithesome song was hushed While Christ toiled up Mount Calvary, Bowed 'neath the sins of all mankind; And humbled to the very dust By the vile cross, while viler men Mocked with a crown of thorns the Just. Pierced by our sorrows, and weighed down By our transgressions,—faint and weak, Crushed by an angry Judge's frown, And agonies no word can speak,— 'Twas then, dear bird, the legend says That thou, from out His crown, didst tear The thorns, to lighten the distress, And ease the pain that he must bear, While pendant from thy tiny beak The gory points thy bosom pressed, And crimsoned with thy Saviour's blood The sober brownness of thy breast! Since which proud hour for thee and thine. As an especial sign of grace God pours like sacramental wine Red signs of favor o'er thy race!"

"The robin redbreast till of late had rest, And children sacred held a martin’s nest."

"For ever from his threshold fly, Who, void of honour, once shall try, With base inhospitable breast, To bar the freedom of his guest. O, rather seek the peasant’s shed, For he will give thee wasted bread, And fear some new calamity Should any there spread snares for thee."

"You have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin redbreast."

"With fairest flowers Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would, With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monument!--bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground thy corse."

"Then the Redbreast His tunes redrest And sayde now wyll I holde With the churche, for there Out of the ayre I kepe me from the colde.Te per orbem terrarum In usum Sarum; He sange cum gloria, Sancta was nexte; And then the holye text Confitebur ecclesia."

"The flecked pie to chatter Of this dolorous matter. And robyn redbreast He shall be the preest, The requiem masse to synge, Softly warbelynge, With helpe of the red sparrow And the chattrynge swallow This herse for to halow."

"I found a robin’s nest within our shed, And in the barn a wren has young ones bred."

"On her (the nightingale) waites Robin in his redde livorie, who sits as a crowner on the murthred man; and seeing his body naked plays the sorrie tailour to make him a mossy rayment."

"The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods, Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves His shivering mates, and pays to trusted Man His annual visit. Half afraid, he first Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights On the warm hearth; then hopping o’er the floor, Eyes all the smiling family askance, And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is— Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs Attract his slender feet."

"Robin Redbreast with his notes Singing aloft in the quire, Warneth to get you frieze coats, For winter then draweth near."

"Call for the robin redbreast and the wren, Since o’er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that’s foe to men, For with his nails he’ll dig them up again."

""Nay!" said the grandmother; "have you not heard, My poor, bad boy! of the fiery pit, And how, drop by drop, this merciful bird Carries the water that quenches it?"He brings cool dew in his little bill, And lets it fall on the souls of sin You can see the mark on his red breast still Of fires that scorch as he drops it in."My poor Bron rhuddyn! my breast-burned bird, Singing so sweetly from limb to limb, Very dear to the heart of Our Lord Is he who pities the lost like Him!""Amen!" I said to the beautiful myth; "Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well: Each good thought is a drop wherewith To cool and lessen the fires of hell."

"Art thou the bird whom Man loves best, The pious bird with the scarlet breast, Our little English Robin; The bird that comes about our doors When autumn winds are sobbing? Art thou the Peter of Norway boors? Their Thomas in Finland, And Russia far inland? The bird, whom by some name or other All men who know thee call their brother?"

"Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my casement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. * * * * * Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring."

"Who killed Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin."

"Cock Robin got up early At the break of day, And went to Jenny's window To sing a roundelay. He sang Cock Robin's love To little Jenny Wren, And when he got unto the end Then he began again."

"I am the mistress, so let my birds assemble for me where the sheaves are gathered! I am Nance, so let my birds assemble for me where the sheaves are gathered! Let the birds of heaven and earth stand at my service! Let every bird without a name bring offerings!"

"The beauty and genius of a work of art may be reconceived, though its first material expression be destroyed; a vanished harmony may yet again inspire the composer; but when the last individual of a race of living things breathes no more, another heaven and another earth must pass before such a one can be again."

"Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along."

"Birds of a feather will gather together."

"Over increasingly large areas of the United States, spring now comes unheralded by the return of the birds, and the early mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with the beauty of bird song."

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

"You must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff."

"Never look for birds of this year in the nests of the last."

"For birds the goal is simple—to secure a territory, to win a mate, to contribute the only lasting legacy of their brief lives—the passing on of genes to the next generation."

"Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove, The Linnet and Thrush say, "I love and I love!" In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong; What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, And singing, and loving—all come back together. But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he— "I love my Love, and my Love loves me!""

"Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry Along the waves dost thou fly? Oh! rather, bird, with me Through this fair land rejoice!"

"Dame naturis menstralis."

"Bird on the horizon, sittin' on a fence He's singin' his song for me at his own expense And I'm just like that bird, oh, oh Singin' just for you"

"A bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter."

"To warm their little loves the birds complain."

"Mayr became a mentor for many promising young men with an interest in birds. He urged them to pick a bird, to follow and study it, to learn the secrets of its breeding life, its winter habits, to take in small details that no one else knew because no one else had ever watched so closely. Mayr argued against a stream of ornithologists who hoped to make the science entirely academic, feeling that serious amateurs could make valuable contributions to the field of ornithology if they watched birds seriously and well."

"The nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark's is a clarion call, And the blackbird plays but a box-wood flute, But I love him best of all. For his song is all the joy of life, And we in the mad spring weather, We two have listened till he sang, Our hearts and lips together."

"A feather in hand is better than a bird in the air."

"When the swallows homeward fly, When the roses scattered lie, When from neither hill or dale, Chants the silvery nightingale: In these words my bleeding heart Would to thee its grief impart; When I thus thy image lose Can I, ah! can I, e'er know repose?"

"Better one byrde in hand than ten in the wood."

"Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno."

"Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught The dialect they speak, where melodies Alone are the interpreters of thought? Whose household words are songs in many keys, Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught!"

"Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?"

"The bird is my neighbour, a whimsical fellow and dim; There is in the lake a nobility falling on him. The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme, And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream. The bird is both ancient and excellent, sober and wise, But he never could spend all the love that is sent for his eyes. He bleats no instruction, he is not an arrogant drummer; His gown is simplicity - blue as the smoke of the summer. How patient he is as he puts out his wings for the blue! His eyes are as old as the twilight, and calm as the dew. The bird is my neighbour, he leaves not a claim for a sigh, He moves as the guest of the sunlight - he roams in the sky. The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme, And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream."

"Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray, With joyous musick wake the dawning day!"

"In all of nature, there is no greater spectacle than the fall migration of birds."

"A little bird told me."

"Well I wish I could be like a bird in the sky/How sweet it would be/If I found I could fly/I'd soar to the sun/And look down at the sea/And I sing 'cause I know/How it feels to be free"

"That byrd ys nat honest That fylythe hys owne nest."

"The worlds most frequent flyers don't have platinum status, free upgrades, or even passports. Every hour, millions of these undocumented immigrants pour across major political borders, and nobody thinks of building walls to keep them out. It would be impossible to anyway. Birds are true global citizens, free to come and go as they please."

"Birds teach us that borders are just lines drawn on a map—a lesson we can all take to heart."

"Between two seas the sea-bird's wing makes halt, Wind-weary; while with lifting head he waits For breath to reinspire him from the gates That open still toward sunrise on the vault High-domed of morning."

"There are people who love birds so much they free them. There are others who love them so much they cage them."

"That thought alone made me seek solace in chasing birds, because the one calming thing about being in their presence is the knowledge that my existence, to them, is entirely immaterial. The last thing birds care about is self-justification; they don't even notice me."

"And here is where nature mocks you absolutely. Birds don't work on your schedule. They don't care an iota for your plans or your desires. The ridicule your fantasy that you are in control of what it is you see. They appear when they want to and disappear accordingly."

"I believe in birds. I believe in their beauty, in their wisdom. I love the way they take me out of myself and enable me to live anew. I marvel at their capacity for flight, their sense of direction, their straightforward life, stripped down to the basics: eat, choose a mate, breed, protect. I gather that they don't think too much. They don't have writer’s block. They don't sit around wondering what project to take on next; they don't worry about authenticity or presenting their best selves on social media. I love birds because their lives are nothing like mine, because my anxieties would not only seem inane to them but would register as a foreign language."

"I was always a lover of soft-winged things."

"That which prevents disagreeable flies from feeding on your repast, was once the proud tail of a splendid bird."

"Birdes of a feather will flocke togither."

"Every bird that upwards swings Bears the Cross upon its wings."

"He is a fool who lets slip a bird in the hand for a bird in the bush."

"The bird That glads the night had cheer'd the listening groves with sweet complainings."

"How joyously the young sea-mew Lay dreaming on the waters blue, Whereon our little bark had thrown A forward shade — the only one — (But shadows aye will man pursue!)"

"Up and down! Up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown; And amidst the flashing and feathery foam The Stormy Petrel finds a home,— A home, if such a place may be, For her who lives on the wide, wide sea, On the craggy ice, in the frozen air, And only seeketh her rocky lair To warm her young and to teach them spring At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!"

"Yr wylan deg ar lanw dioer Unlliw ag eiry neu wenlloer, Dilwch yw dy degwch di, Darn fel haul, dyrnfol, heli."

"And a good south wind sprung up behind, The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! ... "God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends that plague thee thus!— Why look'st thou so?"—With my cross-bow I shot the ."

"Great albatross!—the meanest birds Spring up and flit away, While thou must toil to gain a flight, And spread those pinions grey; But when they once are fairly poised, Far o'er each chirping thing Thou sailest wide to other lands, E'en sleeping on the wing."

"Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood; And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon."

"Many condors were simply shot. No, they weren’t edible. No, their feathers weren’t prized adornments for ladies’ headgear. Despite their size, they posed no threat to humans or livestock. Yet there are nearly two hundred documented cases of condors that were killed for no better reason than to satisfy somebody’s perverted vanity."

"Thou should'st be carolling thy Maker's praise, Poor bird! now fetter'd, and here set to draw, With graceless toil of beak and added claw, The meagre food that scarce thy want allays! And this—to gratify the gloating gaze Of fools, who value Nature not a straw, But know to prize the infraction of her law And hard perversion of her creatures' ways! Thee the wild woods await, in leaves attired, Where notes of liquid utterance should engage Thy bill, that now with pain scant forage earns."

"Sing away, ay, sing away, Merry little bird Always gayest of the gay, Though a woodland roundelay You ne'er sung nor heard; Though your life from youth to age Passes in a narrow cage."

"Bird of the amber beak, Bird of the golden wing! Thy dower is thy carolling; Thou hast not far to seek Thy bread, nor needest wine To make thy utterance divine; Thou art canopied and clothed And unto Song betrothed."

"Cormorants are hated. In one popular anti-cormorant treatise, the bird is blamed for its very existence: “A war is being waged between the interests of sport fishermen and a predatory bird that has no local natural enemy. The bird’s sole purpose is to reproduce and eat fish.” Of course, obtaining food and reproducing are two primary goals of any species, including our own."

"The voice of the duck is the glory of the marshes."

"How fleeting are all human passions compared with the massive continuity of ducks."

"Of course the vary a good deal. John’s, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingoes flying over it at which John was shooting, while Michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it."

"The francolin's voice is the glory of the fields."

"Gulls present a unique challenge, not only because most of them look similar, but also because plumage varies drastically depending on the age of a bird. To think that a juvenile and adult herring gull are related is to suspend disbelief in earnest."

"“That’s a great white heron,” my father told me. “As close to an angel as a bird can get.”"

"The first time I saw one in Africa I had much the same feeling as Mr. Malik was having now. It was one of happy elation. There is something about the shape of the bird, with its long curved beak and clown’s crest, and the colour of the bird, with its bright russet plumage speckled with bands of black and white—there is even some thing about the very name of the bird—it just cheers you up. Forget the bluebird of happiness, give me a hoopoe every time."

"The Jackdaw sat in the Cardinal's chair! Bishop and Abbot and Prior were there, Many a monk and many a friar, Many a knight and many a squire, With a great many more of lesser degree,— In sooth a goodly company; And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee. Never, I ween, Was a prouder seen, Read of in books or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims."

"An old miser kept a tame jackdaw, that used to steal pieces of money, and hide them in a hole, which a cat observing, asked, "Why he would hoard up those round shining things that he could make no use of?" "Why," said the jackdaw, "my master has a whole chestfull, and makes no more use of them than I do.""

"What, is the jay more precious than the lark, Because his feathers are more beautiful?"

"She stared out at a kestrel hovering on the wing in the distance. How little it cared for the world around it, content to drift and let the wind take it where it may."

"Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god, He made the barren waste his lone abode, And oft on soaring pinions hover'd o'er The lofty palace then his own no more."

"The false lapwynge, full of trecherye."

"Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries."

"For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to near our conference."

"Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat? Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note."

"Perch'd on the cedar's topmost bough, And gay with gilded wings, Perchance the patron of his vow, Some artless linnet sings."

"I do sing because I must, And pipe but as the linnets sing."

"Linnets * * * sit On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock."

"Hail to thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, linnet! in thy green array, Presiding spirit here to-day, Dost lead the revels of the May; And this is thy dominion."

"So have I seen, in black and white, A prating thing, a magpie hight, Majestically stalk; A stately worthless animal, That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk."

"I'd rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you'll go after birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird." That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. “Your father's right," she said. "Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."

"Then from the neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen."

"Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool! Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe? Thine ever-ready notes of ridicule Pursue thy fellows still with jest and jibe: Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe; Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school; To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe, Arch-mocker and mad abbot of misrule!"

"Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod.Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown:"

"Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!—'Tis no sport for peasants."

"Or have you mark'd a partridge quake, Viewing the towering falcon nigh? She cuddles low behind the brake: Nor would she stay; nor dares she fly."

"Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?"

"Like as a feareful partridge, that is fledd From the sharpe hauke which her attacked neare, And falls to ground to seeke for succor theare, Whereas the hungry spaniells she does spye, With greedy jawes her ready for to teare."

"Fesaunt excedeth all fowles in sweetnesse and holsomnesse, and is equall to capon in nourishynge."

"The fesant hens of Colchis, which have two ears as it were consisting of feathers, which they will set up and lay down as they list."

"See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground."

"In jalousie I rede eek thou hym bynde And thou shalt make him couche as doeth a quaille."

"A female California quail was scratching in a ground feeder outside the farm kitchen window when I washed my dinner dishes, among house finches, chickadees, sparrows. The graceful oval body looked quite large amnog the little birds. She scratched and pecked vigorously. I love to see quail being quail, they are so full of quailness."

"The song-birds leave us at the summer's close, Only the empty nests are left behind. And pipings of the quail among the sheaves."

"An honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails."

"“What is that?” I gasped, nearly blinded by the unexpected vermillion patches on the blackbird’s epaulets. I watched as the bird threw back its head, opened wide its beak and let out a sound so primal it left me marvelling: this was as close as I’d ever stand to dinosaurs. If this bird had been here all along, I thought, what else had I been missing?"

"Those Rooks, dear, from morning till night, They seem to do nothing but quarrel and fight, And wrangle and jangle, and plunder."

"Invite the rook who high amid the boughs, In early spring, his airy city builds, And ceaseless caws amusive."

"Where in venerable rows Widely waving oaks enclose The moat of yonder antique hall, Swarm the rooks with clamorous call; And, to the toils of nature true, Wreath their capacious nests anew."

"Across the narrow beach we flit, One little sand-piper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry, The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit, One little sand-piper and I."

"Tell me not of joy: there's none Now my little sparrow's gone; He, just as you, Would toy and woo, He would chirp and flatter me, He would hang the wing awhile, Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be!"

"The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be."

"The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it had it head bit off by it young."

"Behold, within the leafy shade, Those bright blue eggs together laid! On me the chance-discovered sight Gleamed like a vision of delight."

"An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware."

"Much that is good and all that is evil has gathered itself up into the Western Gull. He is rather the handsomest of the blue-mantled Laridae, for the depth of color in the mantle, in sharp contrast with the snowy plumage of back and breast, gives him an appearance of sturdiness and quality which is not easily dispelled by subsequent knowledge of the black heart within. As a scavanger, the Western Gull is impeccable. Wielding the besom of hunger, he and his kind sweep the beaches clean and purge the water-front of all pollution. But a scavanger is not necessarily a good citizen. Call him a ghoul, rather, for the Western Gull is cruel of beak and bottomless of maw. Pity, with him, is a thing unknown; and when one of their own comrades dies, these feathered jackals fall upon him without compunction, a veritable Leichnamveranderungsgebrauchsgesellschaft. If he thus mistreats his own kind, be assured that this gull asks only two questions of any other living thing: First, "Am I hungry?" (Ans., "Yes.") Second, "Can I get away with it?" (Ans., "I'll try.")"

"Could the whip-poor-will or the cat of the glen/Look into my eyes and be bold?"

"The moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screech-owl."

"Where deep and misty shadows float In forest's depths is heard thy note. Like a lost spirit, earthbound still, Art thou, mysterious whip-poor-will."

"And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce."

"I took the wren's nest;— Heaven forgive me! Its merry architects so small Had scarcely finished their wee hall, That, empty still, and neat and fair, Hung idly in the summer air."

"For the poor wren. The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl."

"Thus the fable tells us, that the wren mounted as high as the eagle, by getting upon his back."

"Among the dwellings framed by birds In field or forest with nice care, Is none that with the little wren's In snugness may compare."

"The bird is a mouse. A frustrating, feathered mouse, no more inclined to be seen by mortal eyes than your average leprechaun."

"I do not be­lieve birds deserve to be put in a taxo­nomic class separate from dinosaurs."

"The dinosaurs are not extinct. The colorful and successful diversity of the living birds is a continuing expression of basic dinosaur biology."

"The more that we learn about these animals the more we find that there is basically no difference between birds and their closely related dinosaur ancestors like velociraptor. Both have wishbones, brooded their nests, possess hollow bones, and were covered in feathers. If animals like velociraptor were alive today our first impression would be that they were just very unusual looking birds."

"If not for the long tail, one might mistake a theropod for a big, toothy, marauding bird in the dark. That theropods are birdlike is logical, since birds are their closest living relatives. Remember that next time you eat a drumstick or scramble some eggs."

"When it was assumed that birds did not evolve from dinosaurs, it was correspondingly presumed that their flight evolved among climbers that first glided and then developed powered flight. This has the advantage that we know that arboreal animals can evolve powered flight with the aid of gravity, as per bats. When it was realized that birds descended from deinonychosaurs, many researchers switched to the hypothesis that running dinosaurs learned to fly from the ground up. This has the disadvantage that it is not certain whether it is practical for tetrapod flight to evolve among ground runners working against gravity. The characteristics of birds indicate that they evolved from dinosaurs that had first evolved as bipedal runners, and then evolved into long armed climbers. If the ancestors of birds had been entirely arboreal, then they should be semiquadrupedal forms whose sprawling legs were integrated into the main airfoil, like bats. That birds are bipeds whose erect legs are separate from the wings indicates that their ancestors evolved to run."

"Imagine, if you will, a world filled with billions of dinosaurs. A world where they can be found in thousands of shapes, sizes, colours and classes in every habitable pocket of the planet. Imagine them from the desert dunes of the Sahara to the frozen rim of the Antarctic Circle - and from the balmy islands of the South Pacific to the high flanks of the Himalayas. The thing is, you don't have to imagine very hard. In fact, wherever you live, you can probably step outside and look up into the trees and skies to find them. For the dinosaurs are the birds and they are all around you. Dinosaurs didn't die out when an asteroid hit the earth 66 million years ago. Everything you were told as a child was wrong."

"From nesting, brooding and sex, to metabolism, development and even the diseases that afflicted them, many of the traits found in birds today were inherited from the dinosaurs. The boundary between dinosaurs and birds has become utterly blurred."

"Every feature that is known to exist in every bird universally accepted as such is also found on dinosaurs: four-chambered heart, fused caudal vertebrae, gastroliths, even the avian respiratory system have all been found on fossil theropods, especially dromaeosaurs and maniraptors. You can distinguish birds among dinosaurs, but it is no longer possible to distinguish birds from dinosaurs."

"I needed the birds worse & worse as I got older as if some crack had opened in the human scheme of things & only birds with their sharp morning notes had the sense for any new day."

"The martlet Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty."

"This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made its pendent bed, and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, The air is delicate."

"Do you know why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories."

"One swallow does not make spring."

"Una golondrina sola no hace verano."

"Down comes rain drop, bubble follows; On the house-top one by one Flock the synagogue of swallows, Met to vote that autumn's gone."

"But, as old Swedish legends say, Of all the birds upon that day, The swallow felt the deepest grief, And longed to give her Lord relief, And chirped when any near would come, "Hugswala swala swal honom!" Meaning, as they who tell it deem, Oh, cool, oh, cool and comfort Him!"

"The swallow is come! The swallow is come! O, fair are the seasons, and light Are the days that she brings, With her dusky wings, And her bosom snowy white!"

"One swallowe proveth not that summer is neare."

"It's surely summer, for there's a swallow: Come one swallow, his mate will follow, The bird rare quicken and wheel and thicken."

"There goes the swallow,— Could we but follow! Hasty swallow, stay, Point us out the way; Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop swallow."

"The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship."

"Now to the Goths as swift as swallow flies."

"The swallow sweeps The slimy pool, to build his hanging house."

"When autumn scatters his departing gleams, Warn'd of approaching winter, gather'd, play The swallow-people; and toss'd wide around, O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift, The feather'd eddy floats; rejoicing once, Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire."

"A swan always gives the idea of a court-lady, — stately in her grace, ruffling in her bravery, and conscious of the floating plumes that mark her pretensions. The peacock is a coquette ; it turns in the sunshine, it looks round as if to ask the conscious air of its purple and gold ; but the swan sails on in majestic tranquillity, it sees the fair image of its perfect grace on the waters below, and is content."

"Swan, my mother said, sensing my excitement. It pattered the bright water, flapping its great wings, and lifted into the sky. The word alone hardly attested to its magnificence nor conveyed the emotion it produced. The sight of it generated an urge I had no words for, a desire to speak of the swan, to say something of its whiteness, the explosive nature of its movement, and the slow beating of its wings."

"All our geese are swans."

"Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing save the waves and I May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die."

"The jelous swan, agens hire deth that syngith."

"Cignoni non sine causa Apoloni dicati sint, quod ab eo divinationem habere videantur, qua providentes quid in morte boni sit, cum cantu et voluptate moriantur."

"Death darkens his eyes, and unplumes his wings, Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings: Live so, my Love, that when death shall come, Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home."

"The immortal swan that did her life deplore."

"The dying swan, when years her temples pierce, In music-strains breathes out her life and verse, And, chanting her own dirge, tides on her wat'ry hearse."

"The swan in the pool is singing, And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever, Dips under the water clear."

"And over the pond are sailing Two swans all white as snow; Sweet voices mysteriously wailing Pierce through me as onward they go. They sail along, and a ringing Sweet melody rises on high; And when the swans begin singing, They presently must die."

"The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood."

"There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon."

"The swan murmurs sweet strains with a faltering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge."

"The swan, with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows Her state with oary feet."

"Thus does the white swan, as he lies on the wet grass, when the Fates summon him, sing at the fords of Mæander."

"The swan's down-feather, That stands upon the swell at full of tide, And neither way inclines."

"As I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves."

"I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest."

"(Let music sound while he doth make his choice) Then if he lose he makes a swan-like end."

"I will play the swan And die in music."

"For all the water in the ocean, Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood."

"You think that upon the score of fore-knowledge and divining I am infinitely inferior to the swans. When they perceive approaching death they sing more merrily than before, because of the joy they have in going to the God they serve."

"The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear."

"Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs."

"The stately-sailing swan Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale; And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier isle, Protective of his young."

"The swan on still St. Mary's lake Float double, swan and shadow!"

"The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill."

"That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!"

"When rosy plumelets tuft the larch, And rarely pipes the mounted thrush."

"Across the noisy street I hear him careless throw One warning utterance sweet; Then faint at first, and low, The full notes closer grow; Hark, what a torrent gush! They pour, they overflow— Sing on, sing on, O thrush!"

"O thrush, your song is passing sweet, But never a song that you have sung Is half so sweet as thrushes sang When my dear love and I were young."

"In the gloamin' o' the wood The throssil whusslit sweet."

"I said to the brown, brown thrush: "Hush—hush! Through the wood's full strains I hear Thy monotone deep and clear, Like a sound amid sounds most fine.""

"Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing! Meet the moon upon the lea; Are the emeralds of the spring On the angler's trysting-tree? Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me, Are there buds on our willow-tree? Buds and birds on our trysting-tree?"

"Hush! With sudden gush As from a fountain sings in yonder bush The Hermit Thrush."

"At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years."

"And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher."

"Thus the fable tells us, that the wren mounted as high as the eagle, by getting upon his back."

"And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce."

"I took the wren's nest;— Heaven forgive me! Its merry architects so small Had scarcely finished their wee hall, That, empty still, and neat and fair, Hung idly in the summer air."

"For the poor wren. The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl."

"I found a robin’s nest within our shed, And in the barn a wren has young ones bred; I never take away their nest, nor try To catch the old ones, lest a friend should die. Dick took a wren’s nest from his cottage-side, And ere a twelvemonth past his mother died."

"Among the dwellings framed by birds In field or forest with nice care, Is none that with the little wren's In snugness may compare."

"The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!"

"Here of a Sunday morning My love and I would lie, And see the coloured counties, And hear the larks so high About us in the sky."

"There was an Old Man with a beard, Who said, "It is just as I feared! -- Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren, Have all built their nests in my beard."

"Skylark, Have you seen a valley green with Spring Where my heart can go a-journeying, Over the shadows in the rain To a blossom covered lane? And in your lonely flight, Haven't you heard the music in the night, Wonderful music, Faint as a will-o-the-wisp, Crazy as a loon, Sad as a gypsy serenading the moon."

"Hark, hark! the lark On windswept bark Freezes against a sky of lead! Now see him stop, Take one small hop, And suddenly keel over dead!"

"Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate"

"KING RICHARD II Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors' calls and do them grace. In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing."

"Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise,"

"The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars."

"Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining."

"The merry lark he soars on high, No worldly thought o'ertakes him. He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, And the daylight that awakes him."

"The lark now leaves his watery nest, And climbing, shakes his dewy wings. He takes your window for the East And to implore your light he sings."

"The pretty Lark, climbing the Welkin cleer, Chaunts with a cheer, Heer peer—I neer my Deer; Then stooping thence (seeming her fall to rew) Adieu (she saith) adieu, deer Deer, adieu."

"Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place— O, to abide in the desert with thee!"

"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed."

"None but the lark so shrill and clear; Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings."

"To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull Night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise."

"And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song."

"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 honor hath humility."

"I said to the sky-poised Lark: "Hark—hark! Thy note is more loud and free Because there lies safe for thee A little nest on the ground.""

"No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings."

"The sunrise wakes the lark to sing."

"O happy skylark springing Up to the broad, blue sky, Too fearless in thy winging, Too gladsome in thy singing, Thou also soon shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing."

"Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting."

"Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phœbus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies. And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise!"

"Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time."

"It was the lark, the herald of the morn."

"It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps."

"Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty."

"Hail to thee blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art."

"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!"

"Up springs the lark, Shrill-voiced, and loud, the messenger of morn; Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts Calls up the tuneful nations."

"The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field."

"Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still!"

"Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine: Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine: Type of the wise who soar, but never roam: True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!"

"It is better to fall in with crows than with flatterers; for in the one case you are devoured when dead, in the other case while alive."

"Crows are the central bird in many mythologies. The crow is at every extreme, lives on every piece of land on earth, the most intelligent bird."

"Even the blackest of them all, the crow, Renders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail. And crying havoc on the slug and snail."

""As the crow flies"—a popular and picturesque expression to denote a straight line."

"So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows."

"Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood."

"The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended."

"As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home."

"If you do not protect your own honor, the crows will peck at your flesh."

"To shoot at crows is powder flung away."

"Only last night he felt deadly sick, and, after a great deal of pain, two black crows flew out of his mouth and took wing from the room."

"I didn't see it, but it sounds barbaric. It's become like cock-fighting: poor dumb brutes being set upon each other by conniving television producers."

"Cock-fighting must be considered a barbarous diversion."

"Cockfighting has always been my idea of a great sport— two armed entrées battling to see who'll be dinner."

"To one that promised to give him hardy cocks that would die fighting, "Prithee," said Cleomenes, "give me cocks that will kill fighting.""

"Trade hardly deems the busy day begun Till his keen eye along the sheet has run; The blooming daughter throws her needle by, And reads her schoolmate's marriage with a sigh; While the grave mother puts her glasses on, And gives a tear to some old crony gone. The preacher, too, his Sunday theme lays down To know what last new folly fills the town; Lively or sad, life's meanest, mightiest things, The fate of fighting cocks, or fighting kings."

"I am the prince who decides the destiny of rolling rivers. I keep on the straight and narrow path the righteous who follow Enlil's counsel. My father Enlil brought me here. He let me bar the entrance to the mountains as if with a great door. If I fix a fate, who shall alter it? If I but say the word, who shall change it?"

"A wilful plough-ox should be put back in the track, a balking ass should be made to take the straight path."

"Come now, my Lugalbanda. I shall give you some advice: may my advice be heeded. I shall say words to you: bear them in mind."

"Fair fortune may conceal foul."

"Lugalbanda lies idle in the mountains, in the faraway places; he has ventured into the Zabu mountains. No mother is with him to offer advice, no father is with him to talk to him. No one is with him whom he knows, whom he values, no confidant is there to talk to him. In his heart he speaks to himself: "I shall treat the bird as befits him, I shall treat Anzud as befits him. I shall greet his wife affectionately. I shall seat Anzud's wife and Anzud's child at a banquet. An will fetch Ninguena for me from her mountain home -- the expert woman who redounds to her mother's credit, the expert who redounds to her mother's credit. Her fermenting-vat is of green lapis lazuli, her beer cask is of refined silver and of gold. If she stands by the beer, there is joy, if she sits by the beer, there is gladness; as cupbearer she mixes the beer, never wearying as she walks back and forth, Ninkasi, the keg at her side, on her hips; may she make my beer-serving perfect. When the bird has drunk the beer and is happy, when Anzud has drunk the beer and is happy, he can help me find the place to which the troops of Unug are going, Anzud can put me on the track of my brothers.""

"In the mountains where no cypresses grow, where no snake slithers, where no scorpion stings, in the midst of the mountains the buru-az bird had put its nest and laid therein its eggs; nearby the Anzud bird had set his nest and settled therein his young. It was made with wood from the juniper and the box trees. The bird had made the bright twigs into a bower. When at daybreak the bird stretches himself, when at sunrise Anzud cries out, at his cry the ground quakes in the Lulubi mountains. He has a shark's teeth and an eagle's claws. In terror of him wild bulls run away into the foothills, stags run away into their mountains."

"The bird uttered a cry of grief that reached up to heaven, his wife cried out "Woe!" Her cry reached the abzu. The bird with this cry of "Woe!" and his wife with this cry of grief made the Anuna, gods of the mountains, actually crawl into crevices like ants. The bird says to his wife, Anzud says to his wife, "Foreboding weighs upon my nest, as over the great cattle-pen of Nanna. Terror lies upon it, as when wild lions start butting each other. Who has taken my child from its nest? Who has taken the Anzud from its nest?""

"Let the power of running be in my thighs, let me never grow tired! Let there be strength in my arms, let me stretch my arms wide, let my arms never become weak! Moving like the sunlight, like Inana, like the seven storms, those of Iškur, let me leap like a flame, blaze like lightning! Let me go wherever I look to, set foot wherever I cast my glance, reach wherever my heart desires and let me loosen my shoes in whatever place my heart has named to me! When Utu lets me reach Kulaba my city, let him who curses me have no joy thereof; let him who wishes to strive with me never say "Just let him come!" I shall have the woodcarvers fashion statues of you, and you will be breathtaking to look upon. Your name will be made famous thereby in Sumer and will redound to the credit of the temples of the great gods."

"Anzud flew on high, Lugalbanda walked on the ground. The bird, looking from above, spies the troops. Lugalbanda, looking from below, spies the dust that the troops have stirred up."

"A bird that darts by in the heavens. The Anzud bird decides the fates with the Anuna gods."

"Raphus cucullatus had become rare unto death. But this one flesh-and-blood individual still lived. Imagine that she was thirty years old, or thirty-five, an ancient age for most sorts of birds but not impossible for a member of such a large-bodied species. She no longer ran, she waddled… In the dark of an early morning in 1667, say, during a rainstorm, she took cover beneath a cold stone ledge at the base of one of the Black River cliffs. She drew her head down against her body, fluffed her feathers for warmth, squinted in patient misery. She waited. She didn't know it, nor did anyone else, but she was the only dodo on Earth. When the storm passed, she never opened her eyes. This is extinction."

"Viewed from its potential as a pet bird, the cockatiel is undoubtedly the finest of all parrot-like birds."

"The feeding ecology of the cockatiel Nymphicus hollandicus was studied in a grain-growing district near Moree, in northern New South Wales, between August 1980 and June 1982, by direct observations and monthly collections of birds in feeding flocks. Cockatiels fed from the ground, on fallen seed or by felling stems, and, when feeding on sorghum and sunflowers, while perched on the seed heads. The mean size of a feeding flock was 27; large flocks of more than 100 birds were formed only during periods of limited food supply. Cockatiels showed a clear preference for sorghum over sunflowers, and when on cereals they appeared to prefer softer, younger seed to harder, mature seed. Overall they fed on 29 seed types, including four grain-crops, 17 grasses and eight non-grass ground plants."

"... I've always known I am different. At times that has made me feel shy and awkward among other people, as if they were looking at me funny. (Possibly because the cockatiel who sat on my head as I worked left droppings in my hair.)"

"The cockatiel, Nymphicus hollandicus, is undoubtedly one of the most popular species among aviculturists. Next to the budgerigar, it is the most popular psittacine as a pet. It can be reproduced quite easily in just about any type of aviary. It is easy to sex (except for the pied) and when tame makes a very enchanting pet. One of the main reasons for its popularity among aviculturists is that several mutations have occurred in this species. There is a great fascination in acquiring two or more mutation colors on one bird."

"The magpie is much less famous for its talking qualities than the parrot, because it does not come from a distance, and yet it can speak with much more distinctness. These birds love to hear words spoken which they can utter; and not only do they learn them, but are pleased at the task; and as they con them over to themselves with the greatest care and attention, make no secret of the interest they feel. It is a well-known fact, that a magpie has died before now, when it has found itself mastered by a difficult word that it could not pronounce. Their memory, however, will fail them if they do not from time to time hear the same word repeated; and while they are trying to recollect it, they will show the most extravagant joy, if they happen to hear it. Their appearance, although there is nothing remarkable in it, is by no means plain; but they have quite sufficient beauty in their singular ability to imitate the human speech.It is said, however, that it is only the kind of pie which feeds upon acorns that can be taught to speak; and that among these, those which have five toes on each foot can be taught with the greatest facility; but in their case even, only during the first two years of their life. The magpie has a broader tongue than is usual with most other birds; which is the case also with all the other birds that can imitate the human voice; although some individuals of almost every kind have the faculty of doing so."

"I woll tell you an ensaumple of a woman that ete the good morsell in the absence of her husbonde. Ther was a woman that had a pie in a cage, that spake and wolde tell talys that she saw do. And so it happed that her husbonde made kepe a gret ele in a litell ponde in his gardin, to that entent to yeue it sum of his frendes that wolde come to see hym; but the wyff, whanne her husbond was oute, saide to her maide, 'late us ete the gret ele, and y will saie to my husbond that the otour hathe eten hym;' and so it was done. And whan the good man was come, the pye began to tell hym how her maistresse had eten the ele. And he yode to the ponde, and fonde not the ele. And he asked his wiff wher the ele was become. And she wende to have excused her, but he saide her, 'excuse you not, for y wote well ye have eten yt, for the pye hathe told me.' And so ther was gret noyse betwene the man and hys wiff for etinge of the ele. But whanne the good man was gone, the maistresse and the maide come to the pie, and plucked of all the fedres on the pyes hede, saieng, 'thou hast discovered us of the ele;' and thus was the pore pye plucked. But ever after, whanne the pie sawe a balled or a pilled man, or a woman with an high forhede, the pie saide to hem, 'ye spake of the ele.' And therfor here is an ensaumple that no woman shulde ete no lycorous morcelles in the absens and withoute weting of her husbond, but yef it so were that it be with folk of worshipp, to make hem chere; for this woman was afterward mocked for the pye and the ele."

"So have I seen, in black and white, A prating thing, a magpie hight, Majestically stalk; A stately worthless animal, That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk."

"Up came a magpie, And bit off her nose."

"The weary rooks to distant woods are gone. With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow While small birds nestle in the edge below."

"The milkmaid singing leaves her bed, As glad as happy thoughts can be, While magpies chatter o’er her head As jocund in the change as she:"

"... and the pie with the long tongue That pricks deep into oak warts for a worm, And says a plain word when she finds her prize, But will not eat the ants; ..."

"Thou art a beaten dog beneath the hail, A swollen magpie in a fitful sun, Half black half white Nor knowst’ou wing from tail Pull down thy vanity"

"The room was a magpie-nest of picked-at knowledge, the lair of a tinkerer to whom the universe was one vast toyshop of intriguing side issues."

"Invisible magpies warbled in the plane trees. Softly, gently, never running out of melodic ideas, they perched among the leaves and spun out their endless tales."

"The colour of the magpie, her father was saying, was symbolic of creation. The void, the mystery of that which had not yet taken form. Black and white, he said. Presence and absence."

"A magpie can be happy or sad: sometimes so happy that he sits on a high, high gum tree and rolls the sunrise around in his throat like beads of pink sunlight; and sometimes so sad that you would expect the tears to drip off his beak. This magpie was like that."

"From somewhere in the garden came the sound of a magpie singing, and a thousand days of childhood arrived with it. Jess glanced to her right and spotted the black-and-white bird perched atop the statue in the middle of the pond. There were magpies in England, too – Jess had seen them often on the Heath – but although they shared a name, they were different from their antipodean cousins: smaller, neater, prettier, and without the eerily sublime song. This magpie was looking directly at her. Jess tilted her head, watching the bird as he watched her. Suddenly, he spread his wings and flew away."

"The capon is above all other foules praised, for as much as it is easily digested."

"He escorted her to the enormous open fire of wood in front of which a row of once-feathered vertebrates were slowly revolving on a horizontal rod.“We return always to the old methods, mademoiselle,” said he. “Here in this kitchen we cook by electricity, by gas, by everything you wish, but for the volaille we return always to the old methods. Wood fire.”The intense heat halted Gracie. The master, however, august showman, walked right into it, seized an iron spoon fit for supping with the devil, and, having scooped up an immense spoonful of the fat which had dripped drop by drop from the roasting birds, poured it tenderly over them, and so again and again."

"A magnificent turkey had just been taken off the spit, well-shaped, golden, done to a turn, and the odour from which was enough to tempt a saint."

"Really, we have just eaten a superb turkey. It was excellent, crammed with truffles up to its beak, tender as a fat pullet, plump as an ortolan, fragrant as a thrush. To be sure, we only left the bones."

"The goose at Michaelmas is as famous in the mouths of the million, as the minced-pie at Christmas; but for those who eat with delicacy, it is by that time too full-grown. The true period when the goose is in its highest perfection, is when it has just acquired its full growth, and not begun to harden. If the March goose is insipid, the Michaelmas goose is rank; the fine time is between both, from the second week in June to the first in September."

".— Many creatures are endowed with a ready discernment to see what will turn to their own advantage and emolument; and often discover more sagacity than could be expected. Thus, my neighbour's poultry watch for wagons loaded with , and, running after them, pick up a number of grains which are shaken from the sheaves by the agitation of the carriages."

"When the goose was on the table, huge and golden and running with gravy, it was not begun upon all at once. A sort of respectful wonderment had silenced every tongue. There were winks and nods, as everybody pointed it out to everybody. What a devilish fine fat beast it was! what legs! what a breast!"

"But when the long hours of Public are past And we meet with Champaign and a Chicken at last, May every fond Pleasure that hour endear, Be banish’d afar both Discretion and Fear, Forgetting or scorning the Airs of the Croud He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud, Till lost in the Joy, we confess that we live And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive."

"If thou didst feed on western plains of yore; Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet Over some Cambrian mountain’s plashy moor; Or find in farmer’s yard a safe retreat From gypsy thieves, and foxes sly and fleet; If thy grey quills, by lawyer guided, trace Deeds big with ruin to some wretched race, Or love-sick poet’s sonnet, sad and sweet, Wailing the rigour of his lady fair; Or if, the drudge of housemaid’s daily toil, Cobwebs and dust thy pinions white besoil, Departed Goose! I neither know nor care. But this I know, that thou wert very fine, Season’d with sage and onions, and port wine."

"Sweet Peggy round her car, sir, Has strings of ducks and geese, But the scores of hearts she slaughters By far outnumber these; While she among her poultry sits, Just like a turtle-dove, Well worth the cage, I do engage, Of the blooming god of Love! While she sits in the low-backed car, The lovers come near and far, And envy the chicken That Peggy is pickin’, As she sits in the low-backed car."

"Nort had chickens, I had cocks, Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks; Mysie ducks, and Elspie drakes,— For a wee groat or a pound: We lost nae time wi’ gives and takes."

"The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land."

"Spring, the sweete Spring, is the yeres pleasant King, Then bloomes eche thing, then maydes daunce in a ring, Cold doeth not sting, the pretty birds doe sing, Cuckow, jugge, jugge, pu we, to witta woo.The Palme and May make countrey houses gay, Lambs friske and play, the Shepherds pype all day, And we heare aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckow, jugge, jugge, pu we, to witta woo.The fields breathe sweete, the dayzies kisse our feete, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every streete, these tunes our eares doe greete, Cuckow, jugge, jugge, pu we, to witta woo Spring, the sweete Spring."

"The mounting lark (day’s herald) got on wing, Bidding each bird choose out his bough and sing. The lofty treble sung the little wren; Robin the mean, that best of all loves men; The nightingale the tenor, and the thrush The counter-tenor sweetly in a bush. And that the music might be full in parts, Birds from the groves flew with right willing hearts; But (as it seem’d) they thought (as do the swains, Which tune their pipes on sack’d Hibernia’s plains) There should some droning part be, therefore will’d Some bird to fly into a neighb’ring field, In embassy unto the King of Bees, To aid his partners on the flowers and trees Who, condescending, gladly flew along To bear the bass to his well-tuned song. The crow was willing they should be beholding For his deep voice, but being hoarse with scolding, He thus lends aid; upon an oak doth climb, And nodding with his head, so keepeth time."

"My musical friend, at whose house I am now visiting, has tried all the owls that are his near neighbours, with a set at , and finds that they all hoot in . He will examine the nightingales next spring."

"A has just flown from a bare branch in the gateway, where he had been perched and singing a full hour. Presently he will commence again, and as the sun declines will sing him to the horizon, and then again sing till nearly dusk. The yellowhammer is almost the longest of all the singers; he sits and sits and has no inclination to move. In the spring he sings, in the summer he sings, and he continues when the last sheaves are being carried from the field."

"It’s not their fault they do not know The birdsong from the radio."

"I grant the Linet, Larke, and Bul-finch sing, But best, the deare, good Angell of the Spring, The Nightingale."

"All day I heard your high heart-broken laughter, Swallow, and, hearing, cried, ‘Is there no place Or time when you forget, Pandîon’s daughter, Your maidenhood, and Têreus, King of Thrace?’"

"My mournful voice the pitying rocks shall move, And my complainings echo thro' the grove."

"What Bird so sings, yet so dos wayle? O ’tis the ravish’d Nightingale. Jug, jug, jug, tereu, shee cryes, And still her woes at Midnight rise. Brave prick song! who is’t now we heare? None but the Larke so shrill and cleare; Now at heavens gats she claps her wings, The Morne not waking till shee sings. Heark, heark, with what a pretty throat Poore Robin red-breast tunes his note; Heark how the jolly Cuckoes sing Cuckoe, to welcome in the spring, Cuckoe, to welcome in the spring."

"Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, “Jug Jug” to dirty ears."

"Yes, the robin, the Opechee, Joyous said, “O Chibiabos, Teach me tones as sweet and tender, Teach me songs as full of gladness!”"

"I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I'm accustomed to him grown,— He hurts a little, though."

"Few mont' ago it happen dat I'm goin' walk aroun', Gettin' ready for de ploughin' is comin' on de spring, An' soon I wait an' listen, for I t'ink I hear de song Of de firse, de early robin, as he jus' begin to sing.It was very, very lucky w'en de firse wan come along — An' you see upon your farm dere is de place de robin stop, Settle down to feex hees fedder, an' commence to mak' hees song — For o' course it's always makin' beeg difference wit' de crop."

"When the red, red, robin comes bob, bob, bobbin' along, along There'll be no more sobbin', when he starts throbbin' his old sweet song."

"He rocks in the tree tops all day long Hoppin' and a-boppin' and a-singing his song All the little birds on Jaybird Street Love to hear the robin go tweet, tweet, tweet."

"In Florida, in the spring when the mating instinct is strong, I have seen a flock of s ing about the sky, going through various intricate movements, with the precision of dancers in a ball-room . No sign, no signal, no guidance whatever. Let a body of men try it under the same conditions, and behold the confusion, and the tumbling over one another! At one moment the birds would wheel so as to bring their backs in shadow, and then would flash out the white of their breasts and under parts. It was like the opening and shutting of a giant hand, or the alternate rapid darkening and brightening of the sail of a tacking ice-boat. This is the spirit of the flock."

"Some shorebirds are capable of very deep (>15 cm) and complex probing of the sediment and this feeding guild is represented globally by three very large curlew species: s (Numinous madagascariensis), s (N. arquata) and s (N. americanus). These deep-probing shorebirds are threatened globally due to recent declines in population sizes, largely resulting from and hunting pressure. To prevent further loss and possible extinction of shorebirds at risk, better knowledge of their feeding ecology outside the breeding grounds is required."

"Numinous arquata are ground nesting s that breed on various open upland habitats, such as {[w|bog}}s, , and hay meadows, as well as on coastal marshes and lowland farmland. Curlew are usually associated with damp habitats, and prefer a heterogeneous mosaic of short and longer vegetation (Pearce-Higgins & Grant 2006). Nests are often located in or next to taller vegetation but curlews tend not to nest in very dense vegetation, as they are highly mobile and need to be able to move freely whilst using cover to evade predators. Curlews feed on a wide range of invertebrates both in the soil, and on the ground surface and plants. Their characteristic bill can be used for probing into soft ground and also y vegetation."

"The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; Along the sea-sands damp and brown The traveller hastens toward the town, And the tide rises, the tide falls."

"The Numinous tahitiensis is a rare shorebird that breeds in western Alaska and winters on oceanic islands in the tropical and subtropical Pacific Ocean. Before human colonization, the islands on which curlews winter were devoid of terrestrial predators, allowing curlews to evolve a rapid moult during which about 50% of adults become flightless. Especially when flightless, these birds are vulnerable to harvest by humans and to predation by introduced mammals such as dogs and cats. On atolls where they are harvested by humans, curlews tend to occur only on uninhabited islets. Consequently, human encroachment in Oceania has probably reduced Bristle-thighed Curlew numbers and altered winter distribution of the species. Future studies should (1) identify concentrations of wintering curlews, focusing in the ; (2) determine whether migratory stopover sites exist in the central Pacific between Hawaii and the southern end of the wintering grounds; and (3) establish a monitoring programme to assess population trends in several parts of the winter range. A comprehensive plan is needed to provide for the existence of predator-free islands throughout key portions of the winter range."

"Still keeping to the low-lying counties, but repairing to the heaths and commons on the wolds, we may have the good fortune to meet with the singular and interesting Stone-Curlew, Norfolk Plover, or Thicknee, as it is severally known. It is not related very closely to the Curlew, being in fact intermediate between the Bustards and the Plovers, probably most closely related to the latter group of birds. It is a summer migrant to this country, and in spite of the drainage, which has greatly curtailed its haunts, still continues to be fairly well distributed in suitable districts. It returns year after year to its favorite haunts, arriving here in April and leaving in October. Wide extensive heaths and rough open country, which is often turned into rabbit warrens, are the places the Stone-Curlew loves. He is a birds of the dry sandy soils, and rarely if ever wanders to the lower and more marshy ground. Nor does he frequent the wooded country, although his favourite heath may be surrounded with trees and fields with tall hedges. The ground cannot be too rough or broken for the Stone-Curlew—heath and furze and briars, coarse grass and stunted bushes, intermixed with bare pebbly ground; these are the characteristics of its summer haunt."

"Stone curlews appear to use their loud and far-carrying cries to achieve . Their presence in places where they are scarce or little known has sometimes been revealed when they have replied unexpectedly to recordings of their calls. The group evidently plays an important, but not clearly known, part in the spacing between nests. Social behaviour continues during incubation, with the non-sitting partners, unmated birds, and those that have lost their eggs, periodically meeting on afternoons, evenings, and at night; thus possibly enabling members of the community to know what is happening and, if necessary, to supply mates to birds that have lost their partners. These noisy meetings often take place well away from the nesting grounds and thus do not assist predators to find nests."

"(or bush stone-curlew, southern stone-curlew, weeloo and willaroo) are long-legged bush-dwelling waders that stand about 50 cm high. They are more often heard than seen. A distinguishing feature is the large yellow eye with a broad white eyebrow and a thick brown-grey stripe running from the eye and down the neck. Their voice is an eerie whistling call which begins with a drawn-out 'wee-seer' that is repeated a number of times and ends with a high-pitched and drawn-out 'keeleeoo'. They favor open woodland, dry watercourses, coastal scrub, suburbs and towns in Queensland and can be tame near habitation, golf course and resort islands."

"The best-known English stone curlew haunt at the present time is surely in the , now a (Clarke 1937, Mason & McClellan 1994, Taylor et al. 1999: 78-79), where the birds can conveniently be watched from the 's . Some 5-7 pairs have nested on the 137-hectare (338-acre) stony at least since 1970 (Westwood 1983)."

".— On the twenty-seventh of February, 1788, stone-curlews were heard to pipe; and on March first, after it was dark, some were passing over the , as might be perceived by their quick short note, which they use in their nocturnal excursions by way of watch-word, that they may not stray and lose their companions. Thus we see, that retire whithersoever they may in the winter, they return again early in the spring, and are, as it now appears, the first summer birds that come back. Perhaps the mildness of the season may have quickened the emigration of the curlews this year. They spend the day in high elevated fields and sheep-walks; but seem to descend in the night to streams and meadows, perhaps for water, which their upland haunts do not afford them."

"Like to a pair of horns come first to us-ward, like to a pair of hoofs with rapid motion; Come like two Cakavās in the grey of morning, come like two chariot wheels at dawn, ye Mighty."

"He took the rotundity of the moon, and the curves of creepers, and the clinging of tendrils, and the trembling of grass, and the slenderness of the reed, and the bloom of flowers, and the lightness of leaves, and the tapering of the elephant’s trunk, and the glances of deer, and the clustering of rows of bees, and the joyous gaiety of sunbeams, and the weeping of clouds, and the fickleness of the winds, and the timidity of the hare, and the vanity of the peacock, and the softness of the parrot’s bosom, and the hardness of adamant, and the sweetness of honey, and the cruelty of the tiger, and the warm glow of fire, and the coldness of snow, and the chattering of jays, and the cooing of the kókila, and the hypocrisy of the crane, and the fidelity of the chakrawáka; and compounding all these together he made woman, and gave her to man."

"... the Kiwi (Apteryx) ... runs rapidly, but has no power of flight. Its body is covered with a thick coating of almost hair-like feathers. By feeling with the finger amongst these feathers one can detect the presence of a miniature wing hidden amongst them. It is so small as to be absolutely useless, although it is asserted that the kiwi tries its best to tuck its bill under it when it goes to sleep!"

"Distinctive features include a long and slightly curved bill with nostrils near the tip, a cone-shaped body (because of reduced pectoral development) that tapers markedly to a strong neck and comparatively small head, powerful muscular legs which make up one third of the total weight, small eyes, large ear apertures and many long tactile bristles about the face and base of the bill. The s, which end in a claw, are very small (40–50 ) and there is no external tail. The is loose and hair-like and does not change in form throughout life. Its neotenous characteristics of having weak barbs and lacking aftershafts gives kiwis a permanently shaggy appearance. Depending upon condition of the bird and time of year, plumage represents between 4.7 and 6.8 per cent of the body weight."

"We describe ' , a new species of kiwi based on a 1-million-year-old from shallow marine sediment in the . The fossil is very similar to the tarsometatarsi of living kiwi species, most closely resembling Apteryx rowi and A. mantelli in size and shape, but differs in being stouter, with proportionally narrower proximal and distal ends. The new fossil is the second oldest known record of kiwi. It demonstrates a relatively conservative kiwi since the ."

"I suggest we depict penguins as callous and unfeeling creatures who insist on bringing up their children in what is little more than a large chest freezer."

"The rules for the humans are do not disturb or hold up the penguin. Stand still and let him go on his way. And here, he's heading off into the interior of the vast continent. With 5,000 kilometers ahead of him, he's heading towards certain death."

"The little penguins look alike Even as Ike resembles Mike. They are so gentle and so nice God keeps these little birds on ice."

"For a seabird, the is diminutive. It stands just 18–20cm (7–8in), which is about as tall as a paperback novel, and it is 26–29cm (10–11.5in) long from the tip of its bill to the end of its short, pointed tail. By comparison, a is 46cm (18in) long and a up to 80cm (24in) long. The puffin weighs between 350 and 600g, while the herring gull weighs up to 1500g. Seeing these figures it is easily understandable how puffins can be bullied by herring gulls and other birds."

"Iceland is by far and away the Puffin capital of the North Atlantic, supporting around 2.5–3 million pairs. In 1994 it was decreed that hunting with fleygs could only take place from 1 July to 15 August. Puffins arrive in Iceland in late April and leave at the end of August, so the open season for hunting was chosen to coincide with the maxim presence of the late-arriving immature birds to relieve hunting pressure on the May-June breeders. Thus non-breeding two- to four-year-olds have traditionally been claimed to comprise over 90 per cent of the catch, although nowadays many more nesting birds are allegedly killed in the hunt. As on the , Iceland's Puffins have declined catastrophically in recent years, with colonies in the south and west hardest hit. Records of the Puffin harvest reflect this: in the mid-1990s over 200,000 birds were caught annually in Iceland (by 100–200 hunters), compared with fewer than 40,000 in recent years."

"... the young puffin, unlike the young , is lively and active at birth, and can soon walk about. Protected by a thick coat of soot-coloured , with white breast, it hardly needs the warmth of the under the parental wing."

"All birds have upper and and lower eyelids. They protect the eyes and are closed when the bird sleeps. Birds also have an inner eyelid that wets and cleans the eye. This third eyelid is cloudy in most birds. But the puffin's inner eyelid has a clear center. It lets the puffin see underwater, even when the lid is protecting the eye."

"The breeds from France and the in the south to as far north as there is ice-free land and has been studied throughout its range. It winters over vast areas of the North Atlantic and, in small numbers, the Mediterranean .. It is the most numerous of the ... puffins with some 20 million individuals. The single egg is incubated for six weeks and the chick is fed on small fish for another six weeks. The chick is independent after it has fledged."

"Most s winter well offshore in the central North Pacific. There are about one million individuals, with 86% in North America. The Horned Puffin generally nests among rocks or in cracks in the cliffs. ... The Tufted Puffin is the commonest puffin in the Pacific with 3 million birds (82% in North America). Breeding colonies occur on both sides of the Pacific from the Arctic south to in Japan and to the winter waters of California. Wintering areas are located in the deep oceanic waters of the central North Pacific. Birds typically breed in earth burrow near the cliff edge, partly because it is easy to dig there and partly because there the heaviest of the puffins and have difficulty in taking off from flat ground. ... Adults eat mainly squid and planktonic invertebrates."

"The first scientific studies of Puffins were by on between 1927 and 1939, rather as a sideline to his pioneering work on the . During this period, Skokholm became one of the world's best-known seabird islands. After the Second World War, Lockley turned his attention to and in 1953 published his monograph Puffins in which he described Puffin biology and behaviour in very evocative prose."

"Iceland is the stronghold of the with the majority of the world's population. Thus, it is not surprising that the species has been an important part of Icelandic culture, folklore and food for many centuries. Aever Petersen (Icelandic Institute of Natural History) initiated the study of Puffins there during the early 1970s. The off Iceland's southern coast have around three-quarters of a million pairs of Puffins breeding at high density on the grassy tops of more than 20 islands in the group. There is a long tradition of fowling and records of the catches have been kept since 1910 with detailed records since 1946. These show that the numbers killed have declined in recent years despite no great reduction in hunting effort."