Armenian Folk-Song--The Partridge

As beats the sun from mountain crest,

With "pretty, pretty",

Cometh the partridge from her nest;

The flowers threw kisses sweet to her

(For all the flowers that bloomed knew her);

Yet hasteneth she to mine and me--

Ah! pretty, pretty;

Ah! dear little partridge!

And when I hear the partridge cry

So pretty, pretty,

Upon the house-top, breakfast I;

She comes a-chirping far and wide,

And swinging from the mountain side--

I see and hear the dainty dear!

Ah! pretty, pretty;

Ah! dear little partridge!

Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.

And pretty, pretty

Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;

The place is full of balmy dew

(The tears of flowers in love with you!)

And one and all impassioned call;

"O pretty, pretty--

O dear little partridge!"

Thy feathers they are soft and sleek--

So pretty, pretty!

Long is thy neck and small thy breast;

The color of thy plumage far

More bright than rainbow colors are!

Sweeter than dove is she I love--

My pretty, pretty--

My dear little partridge!

When comes the partridge from the tree,

So pretty, pretty!

And sings her little hymn to me,

Why, all the world is cheered thereby--

The heart leaps up into the eye,

And echo then gives back again

Our "Pretty, pretty,"

Our "Dear little partridge!"

Admitting the most blest of all

And pretty, pretty,

The birds come with thee at thy call;

In flocks they come and round they play,

And this is what they seem to say--

They say and sing, each feathered thing;

"Ah! pretty, pretty;

Ah! dear little partridge!"

As beats the sun from mountain crest,

With "pretty, pretty",

Cometh the partridge from her nest;

The flowers threw kisses sweet to her

(For all the flowers that bloomed knew her);

Yet hasteneth she to mine and me--

Ah! pretty, pretty;

Ah! dear little partridge!

And when I hear the partridge cry

So pretty, pretty,

Upon the house-top, breakfast I;

She comes a-chirping far and wide,

And swinging from the mountain side--

I see and hear the dainty dear!

Ah! pretty, pretty;

Ah! dear little partridge!

Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.

And pretty, pretty

Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;

The place is full of balmy dew

(The tears of flowers in love with you!)

And one and all impassioned call;

"O pretty, pretty--

O dear little partridge!"

Thy feathers they are soft and sleek--

So pretty, pretty!

Long is thy neck and small thy breast;

The color of thy plumage far

More bright than rainbow colors are!

Sweeter than dove is she I love--

My pretty, pretty--

My dear little partridge!

When comes the partridge from the tree,

So pretty, pretty!

And sings her little hymn to me,

Why, all the world is cheered thereby--

The heart leaps up into the eye,

And echo then gives back again

Our "Pretty, pretty,"

Our "Dear little partridge!"

Admitting the most blest of all

And pretty, pretty,

The birds come with thee at thy call;

In flocks they come and round they play,

And this is what they seem to say--

They say and sing, each feathered thing;

"Ah! pretty, pretty;

Ah! dear little partridge!"

As beats the sun from mountain crest,
      With "pretty, pretty",
  Cometh the partridge from her nest;
  The flowers threw kisses sweet to her
  (For all the flowers that bloomed knew her);
  Yet hasteneth she to mine and me--
            Ah! pretty, pretty;
            Ah! dear little partridge!

And when I hear the partridge cry
      So pretty, pretty,
  Upon the house-top, breakfast I;
  She comes a-chirping far and wide,
  And swinging from the mountain side--
  I see and hear the dainty dear!
            Ah! pretty, pretty;
            Ah! dear little partridge!

Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.
      And pretty, pretty
  Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;
  The place is full of balmy dew
  (The tears of flowers in love with you!)
  And one and all impassioned call;
            "O pretty, pretty--
              O dear little partridge!"

Thy feathers they are soft and sleek--
              So pretty, pretty!
  Long is thy neck and small thy breast;
  The color of thy plumage far
  More bright than rainbow colors are!
  Sweeter than dove is she I love--
              My pretty, pretty--
              My dear little partridge!

When comes the partridge from the tree,
              So pretty, pretty!
  And sings her little hymn to me,
  Why, all the world is cheered thereby--
  The heart leaps up into the eye,
  And echo then gives back again
              Our "Pretty, pretty,"
              Our "Dear little partridge!"

Admitting the most blest of all
              And pretty, pretty,
  The birds come with thee at thy call;
  In flocks they come and round they play,
  And this is what they seem to say--
  They say and sing, each feathered thing;
              "Ah! pretty, pretty;
              Ah! dear little partridge!"

Eugene Field

Known for his lyrical and long-form verse, Percy Bysshe Shelley was a prominent English Romantic poet and was one of the most highly regarded and influential poets of the 19th century. Born on August 4, 1792—the year of the Terror in France—Percy Bysshe Shelley (the “Bysshe” from his grandfather, a peer of the realm) was the son of Timothy and Elizabeth Shelley. As the elder son among one brother, John, and four sisters, Elizabeth, Mary, Margaret, and Hellen, Percy stood in line not only to inherit his grandfather’s considerable estate but also to sit in Parliament one day. In his position as oldest male child, young Percy was beloved and admired by his sisters, his parents, and even the servants in his early reign as young lord of Field Place, the family home near Horsham, Sussex. Playful and imaginative, he devised games to play with his sisters and told ghost stories to an enrapt and willing-to-be-thrilled audience.

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Armenian Folk-Song--The Partridge

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