Poetic reader, for the use of schools, 2 dalis1881 |
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viii psl.
... Death of Haco , Gettysburg , PART IV . · Ballads . Bayard Taylor . J. Ereilla Y. Zunga . Bret Harte . William Ross Wallace . Anon . J. S. Blackie . Alex . Anderson . Preston . J. S. Blackie . E. C. Stedman . Bill is a Bright Boy ...
... Death of Haco , Gettysburg , PART IV . · Ballads . Bayard Taylor . J. Ereilla Y. Zunga . Bret Harte . William Ross Wallace . Anon . J. S. Blackie . Alex . Anderson . Preston . J. S. Blackie . E. C. Stedman . Bill is a Bright Boy ...
19 psl.
... Death for one more breath , May be heard in the Rookery croaking to - day . There's the old churchyard , too , they know full well Without being told by the funeral bell , When anything deadly is doing there , And make narrowing circles ...
... Death for one more breath , May be heard in the Rookery croaking to - day . There's the old churchyard , too , they know full well Without being told by the funeral bell , When anything deadly is doing there , And make narrowing circles ...
27 psl.
... down the desert space ; Yet the rein may not be tightened , nor the rider's eye look back- Death to him whose speed should slacken , on the maddened bison's track . Now the trampling herds are threaded , and the chase.
... down the desert space ; Yet the rein may not be tightened , nor the rider's eye look back- Death to him whose speed should slacken , on the maddened bison's track . Now the trampling herds are threaded , and the chase.
30 psl.
... death . But , by the clemency of Providence , As , rising through the sea , some mighty whale Masters the angry surges violence , Spouts them in showers against the vexing gale , A STORM AT SEA . And lifts to sight his 30 POETIC READER .
... death . But , by the clemency of Providence , As , rising through the sea , some mighty whale Masters the angry surges violence , Spouts them in showers against the vexing gale , A STORM AT SEA . And lifts to sight his 30 POETIC READER .
32 psl.
... and reap the harvest When the Autumn days shall come ? " But the drum Echoed , " Come ! Death shall reap the braver harvest , " said the solemn - sounding drum . LINES IN HONOUR OF HENRY GRINNELL , ESQ . " 32 POETIC READER .
... and reap the harvest When the Autumn days shall come ? " But the drum Echoed , " Come ! Death shall reap the braver harvest , " said the solemn - sounding drum . LINES IN HONOUR OF HENRY GRINNELL , ESQ . " 32 POETIC READER .
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
A. C. SWINBURNE Alcinous ALICE CARY BAYARD TAYLOR beauty bells beneath Bill birds blow brave breath bright boy CELIA THAXTER cloud crimson Croak dance dark dark waves dead death deep dream drum E. C. STEDMAN earth eyes face fair flowers Gettysburg gleaming glee glide gold golden GRANDPÈRE grass green grow Haco hand Hark HAZEL DELL hear heart heaven HENRY GRINNELL hill Hurrah king knew labour LAING PURVES land light little Wren look maidens merry mighty morning Nausicaa nest night o'er peace PILGRIM FATHERS Poems purple roar ROBERT LEIGHTON rock Rookery round rush sail shining ship shore shout sing smile song soul sound Spring storm stream summer summers rolled sunshine sweet thee thou thrush thunder tossed tree Twas voices waves are free weary whispering wide waves wild WILLIAM Ross WALLACE wind Winter woods yellow young
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 !