Historical reader, Issue 1

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Griffith and Farran, 1884 - Great Britain

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Page 71 - O God ! methinks it were a happy life To be no better than a homely swain : To sit upon a hill, as I do now ; To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, — How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.
Page 134 - Speak, father !" once again he cried, " If I may yet be gone : And — " 'but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Page 117 - George's banner, broad and gay, Now faded, as the fading ray Less bright, and less, was flung; The evening gale had scarce the power To wave it on the Donjon tower, So heavily it hung. The scouts had parted on their search, The castle gates were barred ; Above the gloomy portal arch, Timing his footsteps to a march, The warder kept his guard ; Low humming as he paced along, Some ancient Border gathering-song.
Page 113 - Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear, — They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Page 71 - O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many...
Page 71 - When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will...
Page 122 - Why .'twas a very wicked thing! " Said little Wilhelmine. ">Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, " It was a famous victory. " And everybody praised the Duke, Who such a fight did win." " But what good came of it at last? " Quoth little Peterkin. " Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
Page 120 - Old Kaspar took it from the boy, who stood expectant by; and then the old man shook his head, and with a natural sigh, "Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "who fell in the great victory.
Page 122 - Lay rotting in the sun. But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene.
Page 85 - Let tyrants fear. I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects...

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