A Practical English Grammar: For Grammar Schools, Ungraded Schools, Academies, and the Lower Grades in High Schools

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D.C. Heath & Company, 1896 - 275 sider

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Side 244 - Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable, and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace, but there is no peace.
Side 13 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Side 90 - Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he ; not...
Side 245 - I SHOT an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, 1 knew not where ; For who has sight so keen and strong.
Side 259 - 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.
Side 115 - Accuse not nature, she hath done her part; Do thou but thine, and be not diffident Of wisdom; she deserts thee not, if thou Dismiss not her, when most thou need'st her nigh, By attributing overmuch to things Less excellent, as thou thyself perceiv'st.
Side 197 - There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Side 261 - 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...
Side 189 - 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, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things? Not there, not there, my child!
Side 73 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, — The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God ! Felicia Hemans.

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