Baldwin and Bender's Eighth Reader

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American Book Company, 1911 - Readers - 258 pages
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Page 263 - THE BUGLE SONG" The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 1
Page 213 - 1 Hark, hark ! The lark at Heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes ; With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise; Arise, arise!
Page 186 - 0 Caledonia ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand
Page 217 - vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, peace! 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
Page 260 - Caesar fell. Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. Oh, now you weep, and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; these are gracious drops.
Page 211 - Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view; Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives
Page 230 - summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but,
Page 76 - By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung: There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay, And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping hermit there.
Page 258 - All. The will! the testament! Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ? All. Come down.

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