The Boys' and Girls' Readers, Volume 3

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Houghton Mifflin, 1923
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Page 42 - Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their nests in Summer, Where they hid themselves in Winter, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them " Hiawatha's Chickens." Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid, Talked with them whene'er he...
Page 43 - Go, my son, into the forest, Where the red deer herd together, Kill for us a famous roebuck, Kill for us a deer with antlers!" Forth into the forest straightway All alone walked Hiawatha Proudly, with his bow and arrows; And the birds sang round him, o'er him, "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!
Page 185 - There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree, He's singing to me! He's singing to me! And what does he say, little girl, little boy? "Oh, the world's running over with joy! Don't you hear? don't you see? Hush! Look! In my tree, I'm as happy as happy can be!
Page 43 - And the rabbit from his pathway Leaped aside, and at a distance Sat erect upon his haunches, Half in fear and half in frolic, Saying to the little hunter, "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" But he heeded not, nor heard them, For his thoughts were with the red deer^ On their tracks his eyes were fastened, Leading downward to the river, To the ford across the river, And as one in slumber walked he.
Page 173 - And just as many daisies As their soft hands can hold The little ones may gather, All fair in white and gold. Here blows the warm red clover, There peeps the violet blue ; O happy little children, God made them all for you ! Celia Thaxter.
Page 185 - So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me; And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy; But long it won't be, Don't you know? don't you see? Unless we are as good as can be!
Page 239 - And suppose we had n't ears ? For though the grass were gay and green, And song-birds filled the glen. And the air were purple with butterflies, What good would they do us then ? Ah, think of it. my little friends ; And when some pleasure flies, Why, let it go, and still be glad That you have your ears and eyes.
Page 96 - T is seldom Fortune such favor grants As fell to this little maid of France. 'T was Christmas-time, and her parents poor Could hardly drive the wolf from the door, Striving with poverty's patient pain Only to live till summer again.
Page 117 - And being faint with fasting, For the day was almost done, He asked her, from her store of cakes, To give him a single one. So she made a very little cake, But as it baking lay, She looked at it, and thought it seemed Too large to give away.
Page 97 - Children, this story I tell to you Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true. In the far-off land of France, they say, Still do they live to this very day.

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