Poetic reader, for the use of schools, 2 dalis1881 |
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12 psl.
... brave old kings , who kept the world in awe , All greet with love the rosy Queen that's coming through the land . Then make the merry greenwood ring With voices sweet to hear ; As songs that fairy maidens sing At milking of the deer ...
... brave old kings , who kept the world in awe , All greet with love the rosy Queen that's coming through the land . Then make the merry greenwood ring With voices sweet to hear ; As songs that fairy maidens sing At milking of the deer ...
46 psl.
... er the Scottish tide ! But scaith befell thee , Haco , Haco ! Thou wert faithful , thou wert brave , But not truth might shield thee , Haco , From a false and shuffling knave . THE DEATH OF HACO . The crafty King of Scots 46 POETIC READER .
... er the Scottish tide ! But scaith befell thee , Haco , Haco ! Thou wert faithful , thou wert brave , But not truth might shield thee , Haco , From a false and shuffling knave . THE DEATH OF HACO . The crafty King of Scots 46 POETIC READER .
49 psl.
... brave soldiers of the North , And from the field your arms have won to - day go proudly forth ! For now , O comrades , dear and leal , —from whom no ills could part , Through the long years of hopes and fears , the nation's constant ...
... brave soldiers of the North , And from the field your arms have won to - day go proudly forth ! For now , O comrades , dear and leal , —from whom no ills could part , Through the long years of hopes and fears , the nation's constant ...
51 psl.
... brave - they hasten not , nor rest , But close the gaps our cannon make , and onward press and nigher , And , yelling at our very front , again pour in their fire ! Now burst our sheeted lightnings forth , now all our wrath has bent ...
... brave - they hasten not , nor rest , But close the gaps our cannon make , and onward press and nigher , And , yelling at our very front , again pour in their fire ! Now burst our sheeted lightnings forth , now all our wrath has bent ...
52 psl.
... brave , Above whose heads the cross must stand , the hillside grasses wave ! Alas ! alas ! the trampled grass shall thrive another year , The blossoms on the apple boughs with each new Spring appear ; But when our patriot - soldiers ...
... brave , Above whose heads the cross must stand , the hillside grasses wave ! Alas ! alas ! the trampled grass shall thrive another year , The blossoms on the apple boughs with each new Spring appear ; But when our patriot - soldiers ...
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Alcinous ALICE CARY beauty bells beneath Bill bird blow brave breath bright CELIA THAXTER CHARLES WARREN STODDARD cloud crimson dark dark waves dead dream earth EMMA LAZARUS eyes face fair flowers Frankie Gallop gaze Glad song gleam glides gold golden GRANDPÈRE green grow Haco hand Hark hath head heart heaven HENRY GRINNELL hill JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER labour LAING PURVES land light little Wren look maidens merry mighty morning murmur Nausicaa nest night o'er peace Pilgrim PILGRIM FATHERS Poems proud rain roar ROBERT BUCHANAN rocks round rush sail shining shore shout showers sight sing smile soft softly song soul sound Spring star steed storm stream summer summers rolled sweet thee thou thro thrush tossed trees Twas voice waters waters dividing waves are free weary wide waves wild wind wings Winter woods yellow
Populiarios ištraukos
207 psl. - The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.
207 psl. - The Last Leaf I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
104 psl. - Last night, among his fellow roughs, He jested, quaffed, and swore, A drunken private of the Buffs, Who never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown, And type of all her race.
80 psl. - The pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light ; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, With the holy stars, by night. It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay, Shall foam and freeze no more.
208 psl. - My grandmamma has said — Poor old lady ! she is dead Long ago — That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree • In the spring, Let them smile, as I do...
80 psl. - The Pilgrim exile — sainted name ! — The hill, whose icy brow Rejoiced when he came, in the morning's flame, In the morning's flame burns now ; And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night On the hill-side and the sea, Still lies where he laid his houseless head ; — But the Pilgrim — where is he ? 4.
32 psl. - HARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armed men the hum ; Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum, — Saying, " Come, Freemen, come ! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. " Let me of my heart take counsel : War is not of life the sum ; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come ? " But the drum Echoed, " Come ! Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemnsounding drum.
79 psl. - THE Pilgrim Fathers — where are they? The waves that brought them o'er Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray, As they break along the shore ; Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day, When the Mayflower moored below, When the sea around was black with storms, And white the shore with snow.
223 psl. - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, And the young year draws to the
33 psl. - Thus they answered, — hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, Said, " My chosen people, come ! " Then the drum, Lo ! was dumb, For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, " Lord, we come !