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The birds have ceased their songs, All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash, 'Mid Pinkie's greenery, from his mellow throat, In adoration of the setting sun, Chants forth his evening hymn. - David Macbeth Moir (known as Delta), An Evening Sketch Golden Bill! Golden Bill! Lo, the peep of day; All the air is cool and still, From the elm-tree on the hill, Chant away: . . . . Let thy loud and welcome lay Pour alway Few notes but strong. - James Montgomery, The Blackbird A slender young Blackbird built in a thorn-tree: A spruce little fellow as ever could be; His bill was so yellow, his feathers so black, So long was his tail, and so glossy his back, That good Mrs. B., who sat hatching her eggs, And only just left them to stretch her poor legs, And pick for a minute the worm she preferred, Thought there never was seen such a beautiful bird. - Dinah Maria Mulock (used pseudonym Mrs. Craik), The Blackbird and the Rooks O Blackbird! sing me something well: While all the neighbors shoot thee round, I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell. - Lord Alfred Tennyson, The Blackbird How sweet the harmonies of the afternoon! The Blackbird sings along the sunny breeze His ancient song of leaves, and summer boon; Rich breath of hayfields streams thro' whispering trees; And birds of morning trim their bustling wings, And listen fondly--while the Blackbird sings. - Frederick Tennyson
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