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LESSON XCV. THE BKOOK.
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty mills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges; By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I wind about and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling.
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel,
Above the golden gravel.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers,
That grow for happy lovers.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses,
I loiter round my cresses.
To join the brimming river;
But I go on for ever.---Tennyson.
LESSON XCVI.-RAIN IN SUMMER. How beautiful is the rain ! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain ! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs ! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain ! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks ; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool ; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain.
From the neighbouring school
Come the boys,
With more than their wonted noise
And down the wet streets
Sail their mimic fleets,
Till the treacherous pool
Engulfs them in its whirling
And turbulent ocean.
In the country on every side,
Where far and wide,
Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,
Stretches the plain,
To the dry grass and the drier grain
How welcome is the rain!
In the furrowed land
The toilsome and patient oxen stand;
Lifting the yoke-encumbered head,
With their dilated nostrils spread,
They silently inhale
The clover-scented gale,
And the vapours that arise
From the well-watered and smoking soil.
For this rest in the furrow after toil
Their large and lustrous eyes
Seem to thank the Lord,
More than man's spoken word.
Near at hand,
From under the sheltering trees,
The farmer sees
His pastures and his fields of grain,
As they bend their tops
To the numberless beating drops
Of the incessant rain.
He counts it as no sin
That he sees therein
Only his own thrift and gain.—Longfellow.
LESS. XCVII. EARTH'S VOICES.
The leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flower-lips of the
sod, The birds that hymn their raptures in the ear of God, The summer-wind that bringeth music o'er land and
sea, Have each a voice that singeth this sweet song of songs
to me: "This world is full of beauty, as angel-worlds above, And if we did our duty it might be full of love."
Night's starry tendernesses dower with glory evermore, Morn's budding-bright melodious hour comes sweetly as
of yore; But there be million hearts accurst, where no sweet sunbeams shine, And there be million hearts athirst for love's immortal
wine. This world is full of beauty, as angel-worlds above, And if we did our duty it might be full of love.
LESS. XCVIII. LANDING OF THE FILGItlM FATHEBS.
The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
Their giant branches tossed,
LESS. XCVIII.) LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o'er,
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true hearted, came,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
In silence and in fear-
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea !
To the anthems of the free !
From his nest by the white waves' foam,
This was their welcome home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band;
Away from their childhood's land ?
Lit by her deep love's truth ;
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar ?
Bright jewels of the mine ?