Englisches Lesebuch

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B.G. Teubner, 1904 - 294 pages
 

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Page 139 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Page 106 - ... 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. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ) Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped...
Page 140 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Page 67 - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home...
Page 145 - Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
Page 96 - My heart's in the highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the highlands a-chasing the deer : Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the highlands wherever I go.
Page 95 - Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves ; And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves.
Page 137 - In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. ' Stay — stay with us ! — rest ! — thou art weary and worn...
Page 140 - 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.
Page 152 - Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Through days of death and days of birth, Through every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, And as if, like God, it all things saw, It calmly repeats those words of awe — " Forever — never ! Never — forever...

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