What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
A. C. Swinburne Alcinous Austin Dobson beauty bells beneath Bill billows birds blow brave breath bright cloud crimson Croak dark dead death deep dream drum earth eyes face fair flowers foes Gallop Gettysburg gleaming glee gold golden Grandpere grass green grow Haco hand happy feet Hark head heart heaven HENRY GRINNELL hill Hurrah king knew labour Laing Purves land light little Wren look merry mighty morning Nausicaa nest night o'er peace PILGRIM FATHERS rain roar Robert Buchanan Robert Leighton rock Rookery round rush sail ship shore shout sight sing smile song soul sound Spring steed storm stream summer summers rolled sunny lane sunshine sweet thee thou thro thrush thunder tossed tree Twas voices waves are free weary whispering wide waves wild William Ross Wallace wind wings are free woodland brown woods Wren yellow young
Page 207 - The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.
Page 207 - The Last Leaf I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
Page 104 - Last night, among his fellow roughs, He jested, quaffed, and swore, A drunken private of the Buffs, Who never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown, And type of all her race.
Page 80 - The pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light ; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, With the holy stars, by night. It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay, Shall foam and freeze no more.
Page 208 - My grandmamma has said — Poor old lady ! she is dead Long ago — That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree • In the spring, Let them smile, as I do...
Page 80 - The Pilgrim exile — sainted name ! — The hill, whose icy brow Rejoiced when he came, in the morning's flame, In the morning's flame burns now ; And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night On the hill-side and the sea, Still lies where he laid his houseless head ; — But the Pilgrim — where is he ? 4.
Page 32 - HARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armed men the hum ; Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum, — Saying, " Come, Freemen, come ! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. " Let me of my heart take counsel : War is not of life the sum ; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come ? " But the drum Echoed, " Come ! Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemnsounding drum.
Page 79 - THE Pilgrim Fathers — where are they? The waves that brought them o'er Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray, As they break along the shore ; Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day, When the Mayflower moored below, When the sea around was black with storms, And white the shore with snow.
Page 223 - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, And the young year draws to the