The insect hunters; or, Entomology in verse [by E. Newman].

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E. Newman, 1857 - 86 páginas

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Página 4 - Ye, who sometimes in your rambles Through the green lanes of the country, Where the tangled barberry-bushes Hang their tufts of crimson berries Over stone walls gray with mosses, Pause by some neglected grave-yard, For a while to muse, and ponder On a half-effaced inscription.
Página 83 - Husbandmen fondly doat upon thy friendship, Knowing thee guiltless of a thought to harm them ; Thee, mortals honour, sweet and tuneful songster, Prophet of summer. Thee, all the muses hail a kindred being ; Thee, great Apollo owns a dear companion ; Oh, it was he who gave that note of gladness, Wearisome, never. Songskilful, earthborn, mirth and music loving, Fairylike being, free from age and suffering, Passionless, purified from earth's defilement, Almost a spirit.
Página 68 - These are folded, too, beneath them, And all lying on the body : Their legs all alike and simple, Formed for running, not for leaping ; And their feet are all fivejointed.
Página 83 - Happy Cicada, perched on lofty branches, Deep in the forest, cheerful as a monarch, Tasting the dewdrops, making all the mountains Echo thy chirping. " Thine is each treasure that the earth produces ; Thine is the freshness of each field and forest ; Thine are the fruits, and thine are all the flowers Balmy Spring scatters.

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