The children's harp, or, Select poetry for the young

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Стр. 55 - TOLL for the brave ! The brave that are no more ! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was over-set ; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete.
Стр. 56 - With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.
Стр. 72 - I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech, — I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see, They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.
Стр. 121 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Стр. 73 - How fleet is a glance of the mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
Стр. 78 - That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad : Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — Her beauty made me glad. 74 75 "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be ? " " How many? Seven in all," she said And wondering looked at me.
Стр. 73 - Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me ? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see.
Стр. 110 - And children coming home from school, Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
Стр. 84 - TEACH me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything To do it as for Thee.
Стр. 111 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice Singing in Paradise : He needs must think of her once more How in the grave she lies, And with his hard rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.

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