“Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn,
Yet horror screams from his discordant throat.
Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn,
While warbling larks on russet pinions float;
Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote,
Where the gray linnets carol from the hill:
O let them ne'er, with artificial note,
To please a tyrant, strain the little bill,
But sing what heaven inspires, and wander where they will.”

Book i. Stanza 5.
The Minstrel; or, The Progress of Genius (1771)

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James Beattie18

Scottish poet, moralist and philosopher 1735–1803

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“In a valley sweet with singing
From the hill and from the wood,
Where the green moss rills were springing,
A wondrous maiden stood.
The first lark seemed to carry
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Not long she wont to tarry,
Though she wandered none knew where.”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

The London Literary Gazette (10th January 1835) Versions from the German (Second Series.) 'The Coming of Spring'—Schiller.
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“But, O sad Virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as warbled to the string,
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“Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain,
Here earth and water seem to strive again,
Not chaos-like together crushed and bruised,
But, as the world, harmoniously confused:
Where order in variety we see,
And where, though all things differ, all agree.”

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Source: Windsor Forest (1713), Line 11.

“The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearl'd;
The lark's on the wing;
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All's right with the world!”

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Part I, line 221.
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“Morn shall meet noon
While the flower-stems yet move,
Though the wind dieth soon
And the clouds fade above.”

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Context: Morn shall meet noon
While the flower-stems yet move,
Though the wind dieth soon
And the clouds fade above.
Loved lips are thine
As I tremble and hearken;
Bright thine eyes shine,
Though the leaves thy brow darken.
O Love, kiss me into silence, lest no word avail me,
Stay my head with thy bosom lest breath and life fail me!
O sweet day, O rich day, made long for our love!

“Pack, clouds, away! and welcome, day!
With night we banish sorrow.
Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft
To give my Love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow:
Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale, sing!”

Thomas Heywood (1574–1641) English playwright, actor, and author

Poem Matin Song http://www.bartleby.com/101/205.html

“Please rise to the president of the south, and all hail to the chief with them diamond teeth in his mouth”

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“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.”

William Wordsworth (1770–1850) English Romantic poet

The Green Linnet, st. 2 (1803).

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James Beattie18

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