| Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Pop. The fowler comes, in spite of rain, And sings his songs in merry strain, This merry fowler, too, is known By young and old, from zone to zone. Knows how to whistle every sound That birds may sing the whole year round. Oh. None can be more blithe than I, With these sweet warblers of the sky. |
