The Little Orator: Or, Primary School Speaker

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A.S. Barnes & Burr, 1865 - 178 Seiten
 

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Seite 43 - THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel ; And the former called the latter " Little Prig. Bun replied, " You are doubtless very big ; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track ; Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither...
Seite 71 - MERRILY swinging on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee.
Seite 42 - YOU'D scarce expect one of my age, To speak in public, on the stage; And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me with a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by.
Seite 121 - Not there, not there, my child ! " ' Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ; Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings...
Seite 60 - WE were crowded in the cabin, Not a soul would dare to sleep, — It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep. 'Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered by the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder, "Cut away the mast!
Seite 122 - Not there ; not there, my child. Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy, Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair, Sorrow and death may not enter there ; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom ; For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, It is there ; it is there, my child.
Seite 73 - Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee.
Seite 34 - GIVE ME THREE GRAINS OF CORN, MOTHER THE IRISH FAMINE. .IVE me three grains of corn, mother- Only three grains of corn ; It will keep the little life I have Till the coming of the morn.
Seite 81 - I opened my eyes at peep of day And saw you taking your upward way, Dreaming your fond romantic dreams, An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams; Soaring too high to be seen or heard ; And said to myself : 'What a foolish bird...
Seite 122 - Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold, Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand? Is it there, sweet mother! that better land? Not there, not there, my child ! Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!

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