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Side 61 - He grasp'd the mane with both his hands And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin neck or nought, Away went hat and wig, He little dreamt when he set out Of running such a rig.
Side 27 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Side 65 - Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! For which he paid full dear; For, while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear; Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar, And galloped off with all his might, As he had done before.
Side 66 - The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain! Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein; But not performing what he meant, And gladly would have done, The frighted steed he frighted more, And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went post-boy at his heels, The post-boy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.
Side 62 - The bottles twain, behind his back, were shattered at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke as they had basted been. But still he...
Side 66 - Stop thief! stop thief! — a highwayman! Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space; The toll-men thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town ; Nor stopped till where he had got up He did again get down. Now let us sing, long live the king...
Side 48 - Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two arc gone to sea; " Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother.
Side 26 - 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. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
Side 23 - The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips ! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.