The Ackworth reading book, being selections from the best English authors in prose and poetry, for the use of Ackworth school, by W. Pollard1865 |
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Страница 10
... bird , how cheerfully dost thou sit and sing , and yet knowest not where thou art , nor where thou shalt make thy next meal ; and at night must shroud thy- self in a bush for lodging ! What a shame is it for me , that see before me so ...
... bird , how cheerfully dost thou sit and sing , and yet knowest not where thou art , nor where thou shalt make thy next meal ; and at night must shroud thy- self in a bush for lodging ! What a shame is it for me , that see before me so ...
Страница 32
... bird was beaten back by the loud sighings of an eastern wind , and his motion made irregular and inconstant , descending more at every breath of the tempest , than it could recover by the libration and frequent weighing of its wings ...
... bird was beaten back by the loud sighings of an eastern wind , and his motion made irregular and inconstant , descending more at every breath of the tempest , than it could recover by the libration and frequent weighing of its wings ...
Страница 33
... birds , and saw every day the flowers appear in the earth , and heard the voice of the turtle in the land . In this country the sun shineth night and day wherefore this was beyond the valley of the Shadow of Death , and also out of the ...
... birds , and saw every day the flowers appear in the earth , and heard the voice of the turtle in the land . In this country the sun shineth night and day wherefore this was beyond the valley of the Shadow of Death , and also out of the ...
Страница 50
... birds , which seldom make their appearance till the dusk of the evening . The place was formerly a churchyard , and has still several marks in it of graves and burying - places . There is such an echo among the old ruins and vaults ...
... birds , which seldom make their appearance till the dusk of the evening . The place was formerly a churchyard , and has still several marks in it of graves and burying - places . There is such an echo among the old ruins and vaults ...
Страница 52
... birds were as likely to ruin me now , when it was in the ear ; for , going along by the place to see how it throve , I saw my little crop surrounded with fowls of I know not how many sorts , which stood , as it were , watching till I ...
... birds were as likely to ruin me now , when it was in the ear ; for , going along by the place to see how it throve , I saw my little crop surrounded with fowls of I know not how many sorts , which stood , as it were , watching till I ...
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admiration animal appear birds blessing bread Brownist called Carthusians character Charon cheerful Christian church Cobham corn creatures danger death delighted earth EDWARD MIALL enemies England evil eyes faith father fear feeling fire friends give glory hand happy hath heard heart heaven holy honour hope House of Commons human Joseph Sturge kind king knew Kuruman labour land live Lollardism London Charterhouse look Lord Lord Cobham mankind ment mind moral morning mother nation nature never night noble once passed peace pemmican perhaps political poor Puritans Rachel Reformation religion Rephidim rest round scene seemed seen slavery slaves soul spirit tell thee things Thomas Clarkson thou thought tion told Trim truth turn uncle Toby voice walk WASHINGTON IRVING whole words young
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Страница 370 - Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; She all night long her amorous descant sung...
Страница 388 - 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.
Страница 62 - And he gave it for his opinion, " that whoever could make two ears of corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground, where only one grew before, would deserve better of mankind, and do more essential service to his country, than, the whole race of politicians put together.
Страница 392 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.
Страница 367 - I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; I am no orator, as Brutus is ; But as you know me all, a plain blunt man. That love my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on...
Страница 421 - Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.
Страница 369 - So good, so noble, and so true a master ? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. The king shall have my service ; but my prayers For ever and for ever shall be yours.
Страница 386 - Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Страница 393 - On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide. A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire ; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain...
Страница 421 - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.