The Story Hour Readers..., Book 3

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American book Company, 1914 - Readers and speakers

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Page 26 - 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 99 - Where Go the Boats? Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill.
Page 223 - The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree: It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the top of the hills.
Page 65 - I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies' skirts across the grass — O wind, a-blowing all day long!
Page 196 - You can really have no notion how delightful it will be When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!" But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance — Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance, Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance. "What matters it how far we go?
Page 153 - BOY'S SONG Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That's the way for Billy and me.
Page 84 - Thus the Birch Canoe was builded In the valley, by the river, In the bosom of the forest; And the forest's life was in it, All its mystery and its magic, All the lightness of the birch-tree, All the toughness of the cedar, All the larch's supple sinews; And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a yellow water-lily.
Page 130 - Good-bye, good-bye to Summer ! For Summer's nearly done ; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun ; Our thrushes now are silent, Our swallows flown away, — But Robin's here in coat of brown, And scarlet breast-knot gay. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! Robin sings so sweetly In the falling of the year. Bright yellow, red, and orange...
Page 5 - AT evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed.
Page 131 - When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house. The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow, — Alas ! in winter dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go? Robin, Robin Redbreast, 0 Robin dear ! And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer.

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