Choice Readings from Standard and Popular Authors: Embracing a Complete Classification of Selections, a Comprehensive Diagram of the Principles of Vocal Expression ... from Shakespeare, the Bible, and the Hymn-books
Ginn & Company, 1884 - Readers - 710 pages
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Alfred Tennyson Alice Cary arms bear beautiful bells bless blood brave breast breath Bregenz brow child clouds Commodus cried Daniel Webster dark dead dear death Decemvir deep dream Earth eyes face fair fall father fear feet fellah flowers friends gazed girl Goody Cole grave Hampton River hand happy hath head hear heard heart Heaven honour hope Kate Shelly King kiss Lady Lictors light lips live look look'd Lord Mac-Morlan morning mother never night o'er once Parthenia pass'd poor prayer R. H. Dana ring river round S. T. Coleridge Sandalphon seem'd shore shout silence smile song sorrow soul speak spirit stand star stood sweet tears tell thee thing thou thought tree turn'd Twas Virg voice waves wild William Wordsworth wood words young
Page 293 - But there is no peace! The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? ' Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take; but as for me — give me liberty, or give me death!
Page 20 - customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 293 - There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. 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!...
Page 267 - When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood!
Page 16 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 212 - Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity ! O dread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 1 worshipped the Invisible alone.
Page 209 - 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.
Page 329 - Where the great Sun begins his state Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Page 129 - Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, - the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods - rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
Page 20 - Another came; nor yet beside the rill. Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he : "The next, with dirges due in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne; — Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.