Poetry for children, selected by L. Aikin1804 |
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Results 1-5 of 7
Page 19
... cry philip when he'd done ; O ! whose heart can choose but bleed ? O how eager would he fight , And ne'er hurt , though he did bite ! No morn did pass , But on my glafs H 20 The Swallow . He would fit , and mark The Dead Sparrow.
... cry philip when he'd done ; O ! whose heart can choose but bleed ? O how eager would he fight , And ne'er hurt , though he did bite ! No morn did pass , But on my glafs H 20 The Swallow . He would fit , and mark The Dead Sparrow.
Page 22
... whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound , Content to breathe his native air In his own ground ! Whofe herds with milk , whofe fields with bread , Whofe flocks fupply him with attire , Whose trees in fummer yield him shade , In ...
... whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound , Content to breathe his native air In his own ground ! Whofe herds with milk , whofe fields with bread , Whofe flocks fupply him with attire , Whose trees in fummer yield him shade , In ...
Page 34
... Whose twinkling wings are feen at fits The dewy light among . And cheering to the traveller The gales that round him play , When faint and wearily he drags Along his noontide way . And when beneath th ' unclouded fun Full wearily toils ...
... Whose twinkling wings are feen at fits The dewy light among . And cheering to the traveller The gales that round him play , When faint and wearily he drags Along his noontide way . And when beneath th ' unclouded fun Full wearily toils ...
Page 94
... Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span- O give relief ! and Heaven will bless your store . THE DYING NEGRO . O'ER my toil - wither'd limbs fickly languors are fhed , And the dark ...
... Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span- O give relief ! and Heaven will bless your store . THE DYING NEGRO . O'ER my toil - wither'd limbs fickly languors are fhed , And the dark ...
Page 102
... whose thoughts are clear From fraud , difguife , and guile , Needs neither Fortune's frowning fear , Nor court her fickle smile . The greatness that would make us grave Is but an empty thing ; What more than mirth would mortals have ...
... whose thoughts are clear From fraud , difguife , and guile , Needs neither Fortune's frowning fear , Nor court her fickle smile . The greatness that would make us grave Is but an empty thing ; What more than mirth would mortals have ...
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Common terms and phrases
æther BARBAULD beautiful beneath birds bofom bound breaft bright bufy burſt buſy cheerful clouds courſe defcending defert diftant eaſtern ev'ry eyes fame father William feas feek feen fhade fhall fhepherd fhining fhore fide filent filver fing firſt fleep flocks flood flower fnow foar foft fome foon foul ftars ftill ftream fuch fummer fupply fwains fweet fwell gale green groves hare Heaven hills Hippopotamus hyæna kifs laſt light little hour marmot morn mountains night o'er painted banks paſs paſt pine-apples plain pleaſe pleaſure POPE'S HOMER praiſe Purſue Pyrenees rage reaſon rife riſe rocks rofe round rubies rich ſcene ſeen ſhade ſhining ſhore ſkies ſky ſmiling ſpread ſpring ſtate ſtill ſtore ſtorms ſweet tawny eagle tear tempeft thee theſe thirſt thou thro tide trees trembling united band vale VIRGIL waſte wave weft Whofe Whoſe winds wings Winter woods young youth
Popular passages
Page 141 - But who the melodies of morn can tell ? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side : The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean tide ; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
Page 22 - HAPPY the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground ; Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in Summer yield him shade, In Winter fire.
Page 88 - I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
Page 32 - You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man ; Now tell me the reason, I pray. In the days of my youth...
Page 73 - While, lightly poised, the scaly brood In myriads cleave thy crystal flood ; The springing trout in speckled pride, The salmon, monarch of the tide ; The ruthless pike, intent on war, The silver eel, and mottled par. Devolving from thy parent lake, A charming maze thy waters make, By bowers of birch and groves of pine, And hedges flower'd with eglantine.
Page 107 - While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Page 59 - Ye mute Companions of my Toils, that bear In all my Griefs a more than equal Share!
Page 62 - By wintry famine rous'd, from all the tract Of horrid mountains which the shining Alps, And wavy Apennine, and Pyrenees, Branch out stupendous into distant lands; Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave; Burning for blood; bony, and gaunt, and grim. Assembling wolves in raging troops descend; And, pouring o'er the country, bear along, Keen as the north wind sweeps the glossy snow. All is their prize.
Page 22 - ... shade. In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away. In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day. Sound sleep by night; study and ease, Together mixt; sweet recreation: And innocence, which most does please With meditation.
Page 126 - On foreign mountains may the Sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine, With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olive swell with floods of oil : We envy not the warmer clime, that lies...