The First[-fifth] Reader ...Scribner, Armstrong, 1875 - Readers |
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Page 18
... poor boy with it ; but Jacques was soon up again , un- hurt . My mother , " said he , smiling , to an old sailor , " would be frightened enough if she saw me just now . ” 66 3. His mother , who lived at Havre , was very poor , and had a ...
... poor boy with it ; but Jacques was soon up again , un- hurt . My mother , " said he , smiling , to an old sailor , " would be frightened enough if she saw me just now . ” 66 3. His mother , who lived at Havre , was very poor , and had a ...
Page 21
... poor boy that the sea is tossing backwards and forwards in this way , " said some of the sailors . The captain was deeply grieved that he had permitted the child to make the attempt ; and , notwithstanding the desperate situation in ...
... poor boy that the sea is tossing backwards and forwards in this way , " said some of the sailors . The captain was deeply grieved that he had permitted the child to make the attempt ; and , notwithstanding the desperate situation in ...
Page 25
... poor chicks on the morrow ? 3. " And , when evening around them comes dreary and chill , Who above them will watchfully hover ? " " Two , each night , I will tuck ' neath my wings , " said the Duck , 66 Though I've eight of my own I ...
... poor chicks on the morrow ? 3. " And , when evening around them comes dreary and chill , Who above them will watchfully hover ? " " Two , each night , I will tuck ' neath my wings , " said the Duck , 66 Though I've eight of my own I ...
Page 26
... poor little things , they are all heads and wings , And their bones through their feathers are stickin ' ! " " Very hard it may be , but , oh , don't come to me ! " Said the Hen with one chicken . - 8. " Half my care , I suppose , there ...
... poor little things , they are all heads and wings , And their bones through their feathers are stickin ' ! " " Very hard it may be , but , oh , don't come to me ! " Said the Hen with one chicken . - 8. " Half my care , I suppose , there ...
Page 42
... poor Leslie , friends in some foreign country , and who , occasionally , re- ceived letters bearing a foreign post - mark . What an extraordinary boy that was ! what astonishing letters ! ―― what extraordinary parents ! I wondered if I ...
... poor Leslie , friends in some foreign country , and who , occasionally , re- ceived letters bearing a foreign post - mark . What an extraordinary boy that was ! what astonishing letters ! ―― what extraordinary parents ! I wondered if I ...
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Common terms and phrases
arms Babie Bell beautiful bell beneath bird black fox blue boat Bob Cratchit brave breath Bridal Veil Fall bridge Cape Alexander captain Carcassonne Carthage cheat-ed ye clouds Cratchit cried dark dashed dead door ELIZA COOK eyes face feet fell fire flames flowers foam gray green hair hand head heard heart Heaven hills horse hour J. G. HOLLAND JEAN INGELow John S. C. Abbott land light living look Matterhorn miles morning mother never night passed Procida rising river roar rock rope rose round sail sailors sandpiper seemed shore side silent smile snow soon sound stood sweet tears tell thee things thou thought Tiny Tim trees turned valley voice wall walrus watched waves wild wind window woods young
Popular passages
Page 326 - That orbed maiden , with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn...
Page 169 - THE SEA. The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea ! The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round ; It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; Or like a cradled creature lies.
Page 404 - All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
Page 325 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 189 - Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
Page 405 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Page 189 - Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Page 220 - To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
Page 219 - 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...
Page 404 - Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.