The Howe Readers: A fifth readerCharles Scribner's Sons, 1909 |
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Сторінка ix
... Poets of Croisic Going for the Doctor Quiet Work Ulysses . The Burning of Moscow To the Cuckoo To an Oriole . Rip Van Winkle The Perfect Tribute Recessional NOTES • VOCABULARY . Francis Parkman . 308 Oliver Wendell Holmes 312 Brander ...
... Poets of Croisic Going for the Doctor Quiet Work Ulysses . The Burning of Moscow To the Cuckoo To an Oriole . Rip Van Winkle The Perfect Tribute Recessional NOTES • VOCABULARY . Francis Parkman . 308 Oliver Wendell Holmes 312 Brander ...
Сторінка x
... Poets of Croisic A Child's Thought of God To a Waterfowl . Doubting Castle and Giant Despair . From Pilgrim's Progress 317 237 18 41 Honest Poverty . 108 Winter Neighbors . From Winter Neigh- bors 126 BYRON , GEORGE NOEL GOR- DON , LORD ...
... Poets of Croisic A Child's Thought of God To a Waterfowl . Doubting Castle and Giant Despair . From Pilgrim's Progress 317 237 18 41 Honest Poverty . 108 Winter Neighbors . From Winter Neigh- bors 126 BYRON , GEORGE NOEL GOR- DON , LORD ...
Сторінка 130
... poets feign , Sails the unshadowed main , - The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted , where the Siren sings , And coral reefs lie bare , Where the cold sea - maids rise to sun their ...
... poets feign , Sails the unshadowed main , - The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted , where the Siren sings , And coral reefs lie bare , Where the cold sea - maids rise to sun their ...
Сторінка 249
... but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company ; I gazed - - and gazed but little thought What wealth to me the show had brought . For oft , when on my couch I lie In 249.
... but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company ; I gazed - - and gazed but little thought What wealth to me the show had brought . For oft , when on my couch I lie In 249.
Сторінка 317
... POETS OF CROISIC PROLOGUE ROBERT BROWNING Such a starved bank of moss Till , that May - morn , Blue ran the flash across : Violets were born ! Sky -what a scowl of cloud Till , near and far , Ray on ray split the shroud : Splendid , a ...
... POETS OF CROISIC PROLOGUE ROBERT BROWNING Such a starved bank of moss Till , that May - morn , Blue ran the flash across : Violets were born ! Sky -what a scowl of cloud Till , near and far , Ray on ray split the shroud : Splendid , a ...
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The Howe Readers. a Third Reader Will D. Howe,Myron T. Pritchard,Elizabeth V. Brown Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2017 |
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Alba Longa ALFRED TENNYSON American ants arms asked battle beaver began bird brave brother caterpillars CHARLES WILLIAM ELIOT Cratchit cried dark dead dear death Don Quixote door dying English eyes face famous father fell fellow fire Flat Tail Fritz girl gray Gray Horse gypsies hair hand Hardy hath head heard heart heaven HENRY hill honor horse JOHN king King Arthur knew Lannigan leaves light live look Lord Maggie morning mountain Mud Dauber never night passed Perfect Tribute Phaethon poet poor replied Rip Van Winkle river Romulus Romulus and Remus round sail seemed side silence Silver Sir Bedivere Sir Lucan sleep song soon soul stood story sword tell thee things thou thought Tiny Tim told took trees turned village voice watch wife WILLIAM words young
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Сторінка 258 - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden partings such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Сторінка 83 - I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
Сторінка 307 - They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"— He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!
Сторінка 60 - I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come, and men may go, But I go on forever.
Сторінка 199 - My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will...
Сторінка 18 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome laud, Though the dark night is near.
Сторінка 366 - If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — Such boasting as the Gentiles use Or lesser breeds without the Law — Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget! For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard — All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard — For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
Сторінка 345 - Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of since,— his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl.
Сторінка 39 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Сторінка 198 - O CAPTAIN ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.