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"Oh, thou, whose teeth enamelled vie With smiling Cunda's pearly ray, Hear how the peacock's amorous cry Salutes the dark and cloudy day." And again, where he is describing the same season: "When smiling forests, whence the tuneful cries Of clustering pea-fowls shrill and frequent rise, Teach tender feelings to each human breast, And please alike the happy or distressed."
The long leaves of the banana tree were flapping wetly and the Bougainvillæa on the summerhouse looked soaked and sodden. Somewhere a mocking bird was singing deliriously, making his tuneful fun of the weather. Honor went down to breakfast with a sober face. They had a house-guest, a friend of her stepfather's, an Englishwoman, a novelist.
The speaker then resumed his seat, and glanced persuasively around him for some tokens of assent or approbation. But the men, whom he had thus undertaken to wheedle, had been taught by experience to heed the caution so well recommended by the tuneful Burns, "Beware the tongue that's smoothly hung," and a chilling silence was the only response that greeted him.
It was at twilight when we first swam this fragrant, golden sea twilight, and the birds were singing in every bush; the thrushes and blackbirds in the blossoming cherry and chestnut-trees were so many and so tuneful that the chorus was sweet and strong beyond anything I ever heard.
"And send home mournful madrigals by the ream," said Bobus. "Never was petrel so tuneful a bird!" "For shame, Bobus; I never meant you to see them!" "'Twas quite involuntary! I have trouble enough with my own pupil's effusions.
His were times of artless Art and of franchise immoral, yet mainly innocent. Children call each other pet names, hold hands, kiss, and no one is hurt. So it was in Ferrara when Borso ruled it. Præteriere Borsii tempora! True enough. There were those who saw that tuneful time in the shaping; we, alas! look down on the splintered shards.
Below the mound where the tuneful youth loitered was a path, leading down through the fields and into the highway. In this path walked lingeringly a man and a maid.
His lyre to harmony our Nero strings; His arrows o'er the plain the Parthian wings: Ours call the tuneful Paean, famed in war, The other Phoebus name, the god who shoots afar. Roma domus fiet: Vejos migrate, Quirites, Si non et Vejos occupat ista domus. All Rome will be one house: to Veii fly, Should it not stretch to Veii, by and by.
It was his custom to get up and take his bath in the rain cistern at this time, and to finish dressing just as the men piled out for the morning's work. Yet now the first sounds that smote his ears as he opened his eyes were the rhythmic creak of the mine windlass and equally rhythmic, if less tuneful, chant of the men who were working it; "All-ah sa-eed! Ne-bi sa-eed! Ohé! Sa-eed! Sa-eed!
Every vine and little leaf is a harp-string; every tiny blade of grass flutes its singly inaudible treble; the rustling leaves, chirping cricket, piping batrachian, the tuneful hum of insects that sleep by day and wake by night, mingle and flow in the general harmony of sound. The reeds and weeds and trunks of trees, like the great and lesser pipes of an organ, thunder a low bass.
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