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Сторінка 81 - Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me ; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon ; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon ; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep,...
Сторінка 9 - THE cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun ; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising ; There are forty feeding like one ! Like an army defeated The Snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill...
Сторінка 87 - A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind!
Сторінка 116 - THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW he north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor Robin do then, Poor thing? He'll sit in a barn, And keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, Poor thing.
Сторінка 51 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
Сторінка 90 - They have left their nests in the forest bough ; Those homes of delight they need not now ; And the young and the old they wander out, And traverse their green world round about : And hark ! at the top of this leafy hall, How one to the other they lovingly call ;
Сторінка 90 - Come up! come up! for the world is fair Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air." And the birds below give back the cry, "We come, we come to the branches high.
Сторінка 87 - I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free — The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we.
Сторінка 48 - Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. And Phoebus gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes : With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet arise ; Arise, arise ! Clo.