No rational man ever heard a bird sing, without feeling that that bird was happy; and, if so, his common sense ought to tell him that if God made that bird, He made it to be happy; He intended it to be happy, and He takes pleasure in its happiness, though no human ear should ever hear its song, no human heart should ever share in its joy.

The roaring river fills all the arching way with impressively loud reverberating music, which is sweetened at times by the ouzel, a bird that is not afraid to go wherever a stream may go, and to sing wherever a stream sings.

Now her Complexion, A lovely brown; here tis; Eyes black and rolling, The Body neatly built; she strikes a Lute well, Sings most enticingly: These Helps consider'd, Her Maidenhead will amount to some three hundred, Or three hundred and fifty Crowns, twill bear it handsomly.

Then there were no cascades of real water, nor London docks, nor offensively rich furniture, with hotel lifts down which some one will certainly be thrown, but one scene representing a street; a man comes onnot, mind you, in a real smock-frock, but in something that suggests oneand sings of how he came up to London, and was "cleaned out" by thieves.

I cannot smile at the hopes of the boy Burns, "That he, for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some usefu' plan or beuk could make, Or sing a sang at least.

Like Sterne, who boasted that his pen governed him, Burns praised and affected the impromptu: But how the subject theme may gang, Let time or chance determine; Perhaps it may turn out a sang, Perhaps turn out a sermon.

the Blackbird cried, "I, from the happy Wren, Linnet and Blackcap, Woodlark, Thrush, Perched all upon a sweetbrier bush, Have come at cold of midnight-tide To ask thee, Why and when Grief smote thy heart so thou dost sing In solemn hush of evening, So sorrowfully, lovelorn Thing Nay, nay, not sing, but rave, but wail, Most melancholic Nightingale?

" Lay me nigh to whah hit meks a little pool, An' de watah stan's so quiet lak an' cool, Whah de little birds in spring, Ust to come an' drink an' sing, An' de chillen waded on dey way to school.

If I would fain sing of love, it turned to pain; or if I would sing of pain, it turned to love.

'He's got a new sang,' Mrs. Pumpherston intimated, with a stimulating glance round the company, 'an' he's got a tunin' fork, forbye, that saves him wrastlin' for the richt key, as it were.

The cuckoo, moreover, gives warning with sorrowful note, Summer's harbinger sings, and forebodes to the heart bitter sorrow.

But safe in the narrow cage it hated The captive sings on its perch to-day.

So lovely and so strange a thing Each is to each to look upon, They dare not hearken a bird sing, Or from the other one Take eyeslest they be gone.

You must know every one sings here, the servants go singing about the house like nightingales, or sweeter than nightingales to my mind, like our dear "Kanarien Vogel.

'ITTLE TOUZLE HEAD (To R. V.P.) Cum, listen w'ile yore Unkel sings Erbout how low sweet chariot swings, Truint Angel, wifout wings, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head.

Dey wa'n't 'lowed ter sing, ner dance, ner play de banjo w'en Mars Jeems wuz roun' de place; fer Mars Jeems say he would n' hab no sech gwines-on,said he bought his han's ter wuk, en not ter play, en w'en night come dey mus' sleep en res', so dey 'd be ready ter git up soon in de mawnin' en go ter dey wuk fresh en strong.

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, And say, 'How can you e'er propose, You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, To mak a sang?' But, by your leaves, my learnèd foes, Ye're maybe wrang.

I. Within our heaven of love, the new-born star We long devoutly watched, like shepherd kings, Steals into light, and, floating from afar, Methinks some bright transcendent seraph sings, Waving with flashing light her radiant wings, Immortal welcome to the stranger fair: To us a child is born.

Upon the terrace where I play A little fountain sings all day A tiny tune: It leaps and prances in the air I saw a little fairy there This afternoon.

He wore a small, clipped moustache; his hands were white; he was a man whom one might expect to possess the sang froid of a devil in any emergency.

Better I resumed and read, Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing, This disdain so strange and strong, This delusion little heeding. NISIDA.

"But mother, God's blessed angels There, rejoicing sing to Him!" Forth from the sunset's rosy fires Now cometh the midnight dim.

Forgive me, Sweet, andau revoir!Perhaps thy heart will relent beforebefore the nightingale sings.

The spring days now are lengthening out their light; The plants and trees are dressed in living green; The orioles resting sing, or wing their flight; Our wives amid the southern-wood are seen, Which white they bring, to feed their silkworms keen.

In his later copies, he gave the preference to the u, in all these words; but restored sang and sank, which Crombie names above, still omitting the other six, which did not happen to be mentioned to him.