The Folk Lore and Provincial Names of British Birds

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Folk-lore Society, 1886 - Birds - 243 pages
 

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Page 74 - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Page 90 - Who provideth for the raven his food ? when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat.
Page 205 - The blackening wave is edged with white : To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh.
Page 51 - Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings ; Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow ! Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children.
Page 84 - Lawn as white as driven snow ; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses ; Masks for faces and for noses...
Page 119 - With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground, And turn me thrice around, around, around.
Page 90 - Sing unto the LORD with thanksgiving; sing praise upon the harp unto our God: 8 who covereth the heaven with clouds, who prepareth rain for the earth, who maketh grass to grow upon the mountains. 9 He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry.
Page 191 - Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times ; and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their coming; but my people know not the judgment of the LORD.
Page 49 - Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies, To know when hail will fall, or winds arise. He taught us erst the heifer's tail to view, When...
Page 13 - 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...

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