New National Fifth Reader

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A.S. Barnes, 1884 - 480 pages
 

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Page 461 - Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good name, Hobs me of that which not enriches him, Absence of occupation is not rest; A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
Page 436 - their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of Death
Page 436 - short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If
Page 380 - He heard it, but he heeded not; his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away: He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ; But where his rude hut by the Danube lay — There were his young barbariansN all at play, There was their DacianN
Page 23 - A various language. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. From
Page 461 - Sloth makes all things difficult, but Industry all easy; and he that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night; while Laziness travels so slowly, that Poverty soon overtakes him. Good name, in man or woman, Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
Page 20 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet birds, every one.
Page 457 - eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted -NEVERMORE
Page 457 - Nevermore!" "Prophet I" said I, "thing of evil! —prophet still, If bird or devil! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted—tell mo truly, I implore — Is
Page 426 - me not, Hubert! Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes; Though to no use but still to look on you ! Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy.

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