Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !

Updated: May 15, 2025


Well, you never had sense," remarked Mary, turning away indignantly. Thus roused, the railroader repeated: "Sure, an' ye could. A feather'd do it, an' easy. But sit down, woman. Sit down as I bid ye, an' hear the most wonderful, marvelous tale a body ever heard this side old Ireland.

Nor was this the only rhyme that his emotions led to his inscribing in his journal: and he confided to it the following: "Oh Ye Gods why should my Poor Resistless Heart Stand to oppose thy might and Power At Last surrender to cupids feather'd Dart And now lays Bleeding every Hour For her that's Pityless of my grief and Woes And will not on me Pity take He sleep amongst my most inveterate Foes And with gladness never wish to wake In deluding sleepings let my Eyelids close That in an enraptured Dream I may In a soft lulling sleep and gentle repose Possess those joys denied by Day."

They are abundantly more beautiful, and finer feather'd than those in Europe, and not above half so big. They cry pretty much, as the English Plovers do; and differ not much in Feather, but want a third of their Bigness. I never saw any but three times, that fell and settled on the Ground. They differ very little from those in Europe, as far as I could discern.

This Contract among Birds lasts no longer than till a Brood of young ones arises from it; so that in the feather'd Kind, the Cares and Fatigues of the married State, if I may so call it, lie principally upon the Female.

"Aurora hail! and all the thousand dies, That deck thy progress through the vaulted skies! The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays, On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays. Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume, Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume. &c. &c." From Thoughts on Imagination.

No genial beams rejoice our rustic train, Their harvest's still the better for the rain. To summer suns our groves no tribute owe, They thrive in frost, and flourish best in snow. When other woods resound the feather'd throng, Our groves, our woods, are destitute of song.

Word Of The Day

abitou

Others Looking