« ForrigeFortsæt »
Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold,
Earth claims not these again!
the depths have more! Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! – Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay!
Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
Give back the true and brave!
Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom
But all is not thine own!
To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
14. THE BLUEBELL OF SCOTLAND,
Oh where! and oh where! is your Highland laddie gone? He's gone to fight the French for King George upon the throne; And it's oh! in my heart how I wish him safe at home.
Oh where! and oh where! does your Highland laddie dwell?
What clothes, in what clothes is your Highland laddie clad? His bonnet's ot the Saxon green, his waistcoat's of the plaid; And it's oh! in my heart that I love my Highland lad.
Suppose, oh suppose, that your Highland lad should die? The bagpipes shall play over him, I'll lay me down and cry; And it's oh! in my heart that I wish he may not die!
15. THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS.
At evening when the lamp is lit,
Now, with my little gun, I crawl
There in the night, where none can spy ,
There are the hills, these are the woods,
I see the others far away
So when my nurse comes in for me
R. L. STEVENSON.
16. A WINTER'S TALE.
So late! and all the passers gone :
So cold the snowy street!
With bare and weary feet.
Down drops her little head;
Her violets are dead.
Soft, soft! the Christmas morn grows bright;
The winds no more are wild :
A little angel-child.
He sees the down-dropt head,
Her violets are dead.
Upon her head and eyelids wet
His hands he gently laid;
And blessed the little maid;
Upon the frosty air;
F. E. WEATHERLY.
17. THE TIGER.
Tiger, tiger, burning bright,
In what distant deeps or skies
And what shoulder and what art
What the hammer, what the chain,
When the stars threw down their spears,
W. BLAKE. 18. THE THREE FISHERS.
Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
Away to the West as the sun went down;
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
Though the harbour bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.
And the harbour bar be moaning.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
For those who will never come home to the town;
19. HOW'S MY BOY ?
Ho, sailor of the sea !
My boy's my boy to me.