Standard Classic Reader. Book Two for Sixth Grade, Band 2

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Educational publishing Company, 1912

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Seite 245 - HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns," he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade!
Seite 252 - And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Seite 250 - Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the blossoms, the Blue; Under the garlands, the Gray No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red; They banish our anger forever, When they laurel the graves of our dead. Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Love and tears for the Blue; Tears and love for the Gray.
Seite 251 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Seite 252 - In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ourS) So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
Seite 247 - Came through the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade ? O the wild charge they made ! All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made ! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred ! ALFRED TENNYSON.
Seite 259 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Seite 251 - Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
Seite 73 - Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat-- Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets-- Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Seite 254 - My native country, thee — Land of the noble free — Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above.

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