1833. Lamb, Elia, Blakesmoor. Stretching still beyond, in old formality, thy firry wilderness, the haunt of the squirrel, and the day-long murmuring wood-pigeon, with that antique image in the centre, God or Goddess I wist not.
1842. Hood, Elm Tree, III. xvi.
| Yea, this recumbent rugged trunk, | |
| That lies so long and prone, | |
| With many a fallen acorn-cup, | |
| And mast, a firry cone. |
1843. Tennyson, Millers Dau., 6.
| And oft I heard the tender dove | |
| In firry woodlands making moan; | |
| But ere I saw your eyes, my love, | |
| I had no motion of my own. |