The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
  When neither is attended; and I think
  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 seasoned are
  To their right praise and true perfection.
Merchant of Venice, Act v.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

  A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
  Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.
Macbeth, Act ii. Sc. 4.  SHAKESPEARE.

  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.
The White Devil, Act v. Sc. 2.  J. WEBSTER.

  Now when the primrose makes a splendid show,
  And lilies face the March-winds in full blow,
  And humbler growths as moved with one desire
  Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire,
  Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay
  With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
Poor Robin.  W. WORDSWORTH.

The swallow twitters about the eaves;
Blithely she sings, and sweet and clear;
Around her climb the woodbine leaves
In a golden atmosphere.
The Swallow C. THAXTER.

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

BLESSING.

Blessings star forth forever; but a curse
Is like a cloud—­it passes.
Festus:  Sc.  Hades.  P.J.  BAILEY.

  To heal divisions, to relieve the oppressed,
  In virtue rich; in blessing others, blessed.
Odyssey, Bk.  VII.  HOMER. Trans. of POPE.

  Like birds, whose beauties languish half concealed,
  Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes
  Expanded, shine with azure, green, and gold;
  How blessings brighten as they take their flight!
Night Thoughts, Night II.  DR. E. YOUNG.

  In the nine heavens are eight Paradises;
  Where is the ninth one?  In the human breast. 
  Only the blessed dwell in the Paradises,
  But blessedness dwells in the human breast.
Oriental Poetry:  The Ninth Paradise.  W.R.  ALGER.

BLUSH.

  Who has not seen that feeling born of flame
  Crimson the cheek at mention of a name? 
  The rapturous touch of some divine surprise
  Flash deep suffusion of celestial dyes: 
  When hands clasped hands, and lips to lips were pressed
  And the heart’s secret was at once confessed?
The Microcosm:  Man.  A. COLES.

        By noting of the lady I have marked
  A thousand blushing apparitions start
  Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
  In angel whiteness bear away those blushes.
Much Ado About Nothing, Act iv.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.