New code progressive reader [ed. by J. Ridgway]. First (-Sixth) standard

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James Ridgway
1873
 

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PÓgina 171 - 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.
PÓgina 44 - Excelsior! ,Try not the Pass!' the old man said; íDark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!' And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! ,O stay,' the maiden said, ,and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!
PÓgina 73 - I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, oh! too strong for human hand. The tempest gather'd o'er her.
PÓgina 106 - THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, And melancholy marked him for her own.
PÓgina 171 - 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.
PÓgina 160 - No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armour's clang, or war-steed champing Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the daybreak from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping.
PÓgina 43 - 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...
PÓgina 170 - The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
PÓgina 106 - He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his father and his God.
PÓgina 105 - For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind...

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