EVERY BOY'S ANNUAL

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Seite 336 - WHEN the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with' an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods, Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage and full of grief.
Seite 38 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Seite 589 - Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells ! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright ! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune ! In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire...
Seite 168 - I have nought that is fair ?" saith he ; " Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again.
Seite 487 - Directions from time to time, as you shall receive from us or any other your superior Officer, according to the Rules and Discipline of War ; in pursuance of the Trust hereby reposed in You.
Seite 112 - In days of old, when knights were bold, And barons held their sway...
Seite 112 - Beside the river Dee; He worked and sang from morn till night — No lark more blithe than he; And this the burden of his song Forever used to be: "I envy nobody — no, not I — And nobody envies me!
Seite 451 - The court having heard the evidence brought forward in support of Captain Thompson's narrative of the capture of the Leander, and having very maturely and deliberately considered the whole, is of opinion, that the gallant and almost unprecedented defence of Captain Thompson, of his majesty's late ship Leander, against so superior a force as that of the Genereux, is deserving of every praise his country and this court can give...
Seite 447 - Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old ! Of right choice food are his meals I ween, In his cell so lone and cold.
Seite 447 - The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mouldering dust that years have made, Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green. Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And...

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