Poetry for boys, selected and arranged by D. Munro1881 - 150 pages |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 19
Page 2
... sweet From birds among the bowers . The school - boy , wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay , Starts , the new voice of Spring to hear , And imitates thy lay . What time the pea puts on the bloom Thou fliest thy vocal ...
... sweet From birds among the bowers . The school - boy , wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay , Starts , the new voice of Spring to hear , And imitates thy lay . What time the pea puts on the bloom Thou fliest thy vocal ...
Page 3
David Munro. Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green , Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song , No winter in thy year ! O , could I fly , I'd fly with thee ! We'd make , with joyful wing , Our annual visit o'er the globe ...
David Munro. Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green , Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song , No winter in thy year ! O , could I fly , I'd fly with thee ! We'd make , with joyful wing , Our annual visit o'er the globe ...
Page 15
... sweet , the church - bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn ; All other sounds , in that still time , Of breeze and leaf are born . The cottage homes of England ! By thousands on her plains They are smiling o'er the silvery ...
... sweet , the church - bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn ; All other sounds , in that still time , Of breeze and leaf are born . The cottage homes of England ! By thousands on her plains They are smiling o'er the silvery ...
Page 16
... sweet to hear , And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year , And whistled and roared in the winter alone , Is gone , and the birch in its stead is grown.- The Knight's bones are dust , And his good sword rust ; - His soul is with ...
... sweet to hear , And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year , And whistled and roared in the winter alone , Is gone , and the birch in its stead is grown.- The Knight's bones are dust , And his good sword rust ; - His soul is with ...
Page 17
... Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! Emblem of happiness , Blest is thy dwelling place , Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! Wild is thy lay and loud , Far in the downy cloud , Love gives it energy , love gave it birth . Where ...
... Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! Emblem of happiness , Blest is thy dwelling place , Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! Wild is thy lay and loud , Far in the downy cloud , Love gives it energy , love gave it birth . Where ...
Common terms and phrases
banner battle bells beneath blast blood blue brave breath bright brow bugles chase cheer Chevy Chase cried dark dead death deed deep dreams Earl Douglas Earl Percy earth England Excelsior F. D. HEMANS fair falchion fear fire flowers gallant galloped Gelert Gilpin gleam glen glory grave H. W. LONGFELLOW hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre horse Inchcape Rock JOHN GILPIN King land light long thoughts look Lord LORD BYRON loud Lucknow morn mountain N. P. WILLIS Netherby never night o'er pain Percy pibroch proud quoth red planet Mars roar rolling round shone shore sing slain sleep smile song soul sound spear star steed stood sweet sword tear thee thou thoughts of youth thousand to-day Twas Victor Galbraith voice waves wild wind wind's wing youth are long
Popular passages
Page 107 - What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Page 102 - Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. 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
Page 106 - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
Page 70 - The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior...
Page 5 - Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more : Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Page 112 - Old Kaspar took it from the boy Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh '"Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.
Page 110 - Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.
Page 85 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 9 - The same whom in my school-boy days I listened to; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.
Page 10 - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory.