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Page 353 - go, But I go on forever. 10. I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers; 11. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows;
Page 183 - j Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung. WALTER SCOTT.
Page 263 - They shall all bloom in the fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear." 6. And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love; She knew she could find them all again In the fields of light above.
Page 371 - Is bound in shallows and in miseries: On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures. NOBLE DEEDS. I count this thing to be grandly true : That a noble deed is a step towards God— Lifting the soul from the common clod To a purer air and a broader
Page 372 - DUTY. So nigh is grandeur to our dust, JG HOLLAND. So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, " Thou must," The youth replies, " I can." A FAEEWELL. My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
Page 31 - i. The sea! the sea! the open sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free! Without a mark, without a bound, It runs the earth's wide regions round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies, Or like a cradled creature lies.
Page 130 - have looked o'er the hills of the stormy North, And the larch has hung all his tassels forth ; The fisher is out on the sunny sea, And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, And the pine has a fringe of softer green, And the moss looks bright, where my step has been
Page 233 - LESSON XIV. THE BETTER LAND. 1. "I hear thee speak of a better land, Thou callest its children a happy band. O, mother! oh, where is that radia>nt shore ? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more ? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance through the myrtle boughs?"