Northern Europe

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Lee and Shepard, 1897 - 353 Seiten
 

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Seite 136 - For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in. So down he came ; for loss of time, Although...
Seite 184 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Seite 264 - Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long : And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever One grand, sweet song.
Seite 32 - Tis there the daisy, and the sweet carnation, The blooming pink, and the rose so fair; Likewise the lily, and the daffodilly — All flowers that scent the sweet, fragrant air.
Seite 185 - In the same pious confidence, beside her friend and sister, here sleep the remains of Dorothy Gray, widow, the careful, tender mother of many children, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her.
Seite 252 - Nations, and thrones, and reverend laws, have melted like a dream ; Yet Wykeham's works are green and fresh beside the crystal stream. Four hundred years and fifty their rolling course have sped Since the first serge-clad scholar to Wykeham's feet was led ; And still his seventy faithful boys, in these presumptuous days, Learn the old...
Seite 188 - Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home...
Seite 197 - Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, To see a fine lady ride on a white horse, Rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes, She shall have music wherever she goes.
Seite 229 - From its sources which well In the tarn on the fell ; From its fountains In the mountains, Its rills and its gills, — Through moss and through brake It runs and it creeps For a while, till it sleeps In its own little lake.
Seite 42 - ... and a hole in the roof for the smoke to go out. " In one of these,

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