Swinton's Fifth Reader and Speaker

˹
American Book Company, 1883 - 479 ˹
0 Ԩó
Google Ǩͺ ǨһШй͡;
 

Դ繨ҡ - ¹Ԩó

辺Ԩó 觢ŷ

Ѻ - ٷ

շ辺

˹ 422 - twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane as I do here.
˹ 420 - The armaments which thunder-strike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals ; The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make « Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; These are thy toys, and as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
˹ 401 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
˹ 399 - 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...
˹ 414 - Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore : Nameless here for evermore.
˹ 439 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
˹ 317 - ... accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
˹ 368 - The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable, and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! " It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace; but there is no...
˹ 418 - thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.
˹ 400 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips "The foe ! They come ! They come...

óҹء