Poetry for school and home, from the best authors, ed. by T. Shorter

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Thomas Shorter
1861
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Page 39 - 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,...
Page 111 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Page 167 - WE watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied—- We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came, dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours.
Page 110 - But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow, But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 10 - Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!
Page 180 - I hang like a roof, — The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist Earth was laughing below.
Page 91 - That crazed that bold and lovely knight, And that he crossed the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night ; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, — There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright...
Page 142 - ... own ladles, split open the kegs of salted sprats, made nests inside men's Sunday hats, and even spoiled the women's chats, by drowning their speaking -with shrieking and squeaking in fifty different sharps and flats. At last the people in a body to the Town Hall came flocking: "'Tis clear...
Page 73 - Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold — Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand — Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? " " Not there, not there, my child...
Page 55 - And I should dine at Ware." So turning to his horse, he said, " I am in haste to dine ; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine." Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! For which he paid full dear ; For while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear. Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar, And galloped off with all his might, As he had done before.

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