 Daybreak by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2 Palms Old and New Read for LibriVox.org Daybreak by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow A wind came up out of the sea and said, Oh, mists, make room for me. It hailed the ships and cried, Sail on, ye mariners, the night is gone. And hurried landward far away, Crying, awake, it is the day. It said unto the forest, Shout, hang all your leafy banners out. It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, And said, Oh, bird, awake and sing. And o'er the farms, O' Chanticleer, your clarion blow, The day is near. It whispered to the fields of corn, Bow down and hail the coming morn. It shouted through the belfry tower, Awake, O' Bell, proclaim the hour. It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, And said, Not yet in quiet lie. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Meadows in Spring by Edward Fitzgerald From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, Poems Old and New, Read for LibriVox.org. The Meadows in Spring by Edward Fitzgerald. Tis a dull sight to see the year dying When winter winds set the yellow wood sighing, Sighing, Oh sighing. When such a time cometh, I do retire, Into an old room beside a bright fire. Oh, pile a bright fire. And there I sit, reading old things, Of knights and lorn damsels, While the wind sings, O drearily sings. I never look out, nor attend to the blast, For all to be seen is the leaves falling fast. Falling, falling. But close at the hearth like a cricket, said I, Reading of summer and chivalry, gallant chivalry. Then with an old friend I talk of our youth, How twas gladsome, but often foolish foresooth. But gladsome, gladsome. Or to get merry we sing some old rhyme That made the wood ring again in summertime. Sweet summertime. And sometimes a tear will rise in each eye, Seeing the two old friends so merrily, so merrily. And ere to bed go we, go we, Down on the ashes we kneel on the knee, Praying together. Thus then live I, till mid all the gloom, By heaven the bold sun is with me in the room, Shining, shining. Then the clouds part, swallows soaring between, The spring is alive and the meadows are green. I jump up like mad, break the old pipe in twain, And away to the meadows, the meadows again. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Hiawatha's Sailing by Henry W. Longfellow. From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org. Hiawatha's Sailing by Henry W. Longfellow. Give me of your bark, oh birch tree, Of your yellow bark, oh birch tree, Growing by the rushing river, tall and stately in the valley. I, a light canoe, will build me, Build a swift shimon for sailing, That shall float upon the river, Like a yellow leaf in autumn, like a yellow water lily. Lay aside your cloak, oh birch tree, Lay aside your white skin wrapper, For the summer time is coming, And the sun is warm in heaven, And you need no white skin wrapper. Thus aloud cried Hiawatha in the solitary forest, When the birds were singing gaily, In the moon of leaves were singing, And the sun, from sleep awaking, Started up and said, Behold me, Jesus, the great sun, behold me. And the tree, with all its branches, Rustled in the breeze of morning, Saying with a sigh of patience, Take my cloak, oh Hiawatha. With his knife the tree girdled, Just beneath its lowest branches, Just above the roots he cut it, Till the sap came oozing outward, Down the trunk from top to bottom, Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, With a wooden wedge he raised it, Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. Give me of your boughs, oh cedar, Of your strong and pliant branches, My canoe to make more steady, Make more strong and firm beneath me. Through the summit of the cedar, Went a sound, a cry of horror, Went a murmur of resistance, But it whispered, bending downward, Take my boughs, oh Hiawatha. Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, Shaped them straightway to a framework, Like two bows he formed and shaped them, Like two bended bows together. Give me of your roots, oh tamarack, Of your fibrous roots, oh large tree, My canoe to bind together, So to bind the ends together, That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me. And the larch with all its fibers, Shivered in the air of mourning, Touched his forehead with its tassels, Said with one long sigh of sorrow, Take them all, oh Hiawatha. From the earth he tore the fibers, Tore the tough roots of the large tree, Closely sewed the bark together, Bound it closely to the framework. Give me of your balm, oh fir tree, Of your balsam and your resin, So to close the seams together, That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me. And the fir tree, tall and somber, Sobbed through all its robes of darkness, Rattled like a shore with pebbles, Answered wailing, answered weeping, Take my balm, oh Hiawatha. And he took the tears of balsam, Took the resin of the fir tree, Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, Made each crevice safe from water. Give me of your quills, oh hedgehog, I will make a necklace of them, Make a girdle for my beauty, And two stars to deck her bosom. From a hollow tree the hedgehog, With his sleepy eyes looked at him, Shot his shining quills like arrows, Saying with a drowsy murmur, Through the tangle of his whiskers, Take my quills, oh Hiawatha. From the ground the quills he gathered, All the little shining arrows, Stained them red and blue and yellow, With the juice of roots and berries, Into his canoe he wrought them, Round its waist a shining girdle, Round its boughs a gleaming necklace, On its breast two stars resplendent, 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 larches supple sinew, And it floated on the river, Like a yellow leaf in autumn, Like a yellow water lily. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Precession of the Flowers by Sydney Dobel From the junior classics volume 10 part 2, Poems Old and New. Red for LibriVox.org. End of the Flowers by Sydney Dobel. First came the primrose on the bank high, Like a maiden looking forth from the window of a tower, When the battle rolls below, So looked she and saw the storms go by. Then came the windflower in the valley left behind, As a wounded maiden pale, With purple streaks of woe, When the battle has rolled by, Wanders to and fro, So tottered she, dishevelled in the wind. Then came the daisies on the first of May, Like a bannered show's advance, While the crowd runs by the way, With ten thousand flowers about them, They came trooping through the fields, As a happy people come, so came they, As a happy people come when the war has rolled away, With dance and taber, pipe and drum, And all make holiday. Then came the cow slip, Like a dancer in the fair, She spread her little mat of green, And on it danced she, With a fillet bound about her brow, A fillet round her happy brow, A golden fillet round her brow, And rubies in her hair. The Tiger by William Blake, From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New, Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. Tiger, Tiger burning bright in the force of the night, What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer, what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil, what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasped? In the poem, this recording is in the public domain. A Sea Song by Alan Cunningham, From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New, Read for LibriVox.org by Phil Schapf. A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast, And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, And leaves old England on the lee. Oh, for a soft and gentle wind, I heard a fair one cry, A gift to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high, And white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free. The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon hornet moon, And lightning in yon cloud, But hark the music mariners, The wind is piping loud. The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free, While the hollow oak, our palace is, Our heritage, the sea. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Song by Robert Browning. From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New, Read for LibriVox.org. The years at the spring, And days at the morn, Mornings at seven, The hillsides dew-pearled, The larks on the wing, The snails on the thorn, Gods in his heaven, All's right with the world. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. They come, The merry summer months, By William Motherwell. From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New, Read for LibriVox.org. They come, The merry summer months of beauty, Song and flowers. They come, The gladsome months That bring thicker leafiness to bowers. Up, up my heart, and walk abroad, Fling kark and keroside, Seek silent hills, or rest thyself For peaceful waters glide, Or, underneath the shadow-vast Of patriarchal tree, Scan through its leaves The cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity. The grass is soft, its velvet touch Is grateful to the hand, And like the kiss of maiden love The breeze is sweet and bland. The daisy and the buttercup Are not incurtiously, It stirs their blood with kindest love To bless and welcome thee, And mark how with thine own sin-locks They now are silvery gray. That blissful breeze is wantoning And whispering, be gay. There is no cloud that sails along The ocean of yon sky, But hath its own winged mariners To give it melody. Thou sees their glittering fans outspread All gleaming like red gold, And hark, with shrill pipe musical Their merry course they hold. God bless them all, Those little ones who far above this earth Can make a scoff of its mean joys And vent a nobler mirth. But soft, my ear up-caught a sound From yonder wood it came. The spirit of the dim green glade Did breathe his own glad name. Yes, it is he, the hermit bird That, apart from all his kind, Slow spells his beads monotonous To the soft western wind. Cuckoo, cuckoo, he sings again, His notes are void of art, But simplest strains do soonest sound The deep founts of the heart. Good Lord, it is a gracious boon For thought crazed white like me, To smell again these summer flowers Beneath the summer tree, To suck once more in every breath Their little souls away, And feed my fancy with fond dreams Of youth's bright summer day. Then rushing forth like untamed cult The reckless, truant boy, Wondered through greenwoods all day long A mighty heart of joy. I'm sadder now, I have had cause, But oh, I'm proud to think, That each pure joy found loved of yore I yet delight to drink. Leaf-blossom blade hill-valley streams A calm and clouded sky, No mingle music with my dreams As in the days gone by. When summer's loveliness and light Fall round me dark and cold, I bear indeed life's heaviest curse, A heart that hath waxed old. Gay little dandelion lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot, Teleth her beads, Lists to the robin's note, poured from above. Ice-little dandelion asks not for love. Cold lie the daisy banks, clothed but in green, Where in the days are gone bright hues were seen, Wild pinks are slumbering, violets delay, True little dandelion greet us the may. Brave little dandelion, fast falls the snow, Using the daffodils haughty head low, Under the fleecy tent, careless of cold, Blythe little dandelion, counteth her gold, Meek little dandelion, groweth more fair, Till dies the amber dew out from her hair. High rides the thirsty sun, fiercely and high, And little dandelion closes her eye. Pale little dandelion, in her white shroud, Heareth the angel breeze call from the cloud, Tiny plumes fluttering, make no delay, Little winged dandelion, soareth away. The day is done, by Henry W. Longfellow, from the junior classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf. The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of night, as a feather is wafted downward from an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village gleam through the rain and mist, and a feeling of sadness comes o'er me that my soul cannot resist, A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, some simple and heartfelt lay, that shall soothe this restless feeling and banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, not from the barred sublime, whose distant footsteps echo through the corridors of time, for like strains of martial music their mighty thoughts suggest, life's endless toil and endeavor, and to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet whose songs gushed from his heart, as showers from the clouds of summer or tears from the eyelid start, who through long days of labor and nights devoid of ease, still heard in his soul the music of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet the restless pulse of care, and come like the benediction that follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice, and the night shall be filled with music, and the cares that infest the day shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and as silently steal away. Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice, and the night shall be filled with music, and the cares that infest the day shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and as silently steal away. To see to see the calm zore, the wanton water leaps in sport, and rattles down the pebbly shore, the dolphin wheels the sea cow snort, an unseen mermaid's pearly song comes bubbling up the weeds among. Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar, to see to see the calm zore. To see to see our wide-winged bark shall billowy cleave its sunny way, and with its shadow, fleet and dark break the cave tritons as your day. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. The Chamber to Nautilus by Oliver Wendell Holmes From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson This is the ship of pearl which poets feign, sails the unshadowed mane, the venturous bark that flings on the sweet summer wind, its purpled wings, engulfs enchanted where the siren sings, and corals' reefs lie bare, where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair, its webs of living gods no more unfurl, wrecked is the ship of pearl, in every chambered cell where its dim, dreamy life was want to dwell, as the frail tenet shaped its growing shell before the lies revealed, its irisid ceiling went, its sunless script unsealed, year after year beheld the silent toil that spread his luster's coil. Still as the spiral grew, he left the past year's dwelling for the due, stole with soft step its shining archway through, built up its idle door, stressed in his last found home, a new the old no more. Mid-Pleasures and Palaces, though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, which, seek through the world, is near met with elsewhere. Home, home, sweet, sweet home, there's no place like home. An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain. O give me my lowly, thatched cottage again. The birds singing gaily that came at my call. O give me sweet peace of mind, dearer than all. Home, home, sweet, sweet home, there's no place like home. This recording is in the public domain. Ye Mariners of England, by Thomas Campbell, from the junior classics, volume 10, part 2, poems old and new, read for LibriVox, recording by Fenman. Ye Mariners of England, that guard our native seas, whose flag has braved a thousand years, the battle and the breeze. Your glorious standard launch again to match another foe, and sweep through the deep, while the stormy winds do blow. While the battle rages loud and long, and the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers shall start from every wave, for the deck it was their field of fame, and ocean was their grave. Where Blake and Mighty Nelson fell, your manly heart shall glow, as ye sweep through the deep, while the stormy winds do blow. While the battle rages loud and long, and the stormy winds do blow. Britannia needs no bulwarks, no towers along the steep, her marches o'er the mountain waves, her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, she quells the floods below, as they roar on the shore, when the stormy winds do blow. When the battle rages loud and long, and the stormy winds do blow. The meteor flag of England shall yet terrific burn, till danger's troubled night depart, when the star of peace return. Then, then ye ocean warriors, our song and feast shall flow, to the fame of your name, when the storm has ceased to blow. When the fiery fight is heard no more, and the storm has ceased to blow. This recording is in the public domain. That fade upon a summer's eve. But, oh, what charm or magic numbers can give me back the gentle slumbers those weary happy days did I leave. When by my bed I saw my mother kneel, and with her blessing took her nightly kiss, whatever time destroys he cannot this, in now that nameless kiss I feel. This recording is in the public domain. A tuft of daisies on a flowery lay. They saw and said their word, they bent their way. To this both knights and dames their homage made, and due obeisance to the daisy paid. And then the band of flutes began to play, to which a lady sang a virile, and still at every close she would repeat the birthing of the song, the daisy is so sweet. This recording is in the public domain. Blossom on the plum, wild wind and merry, leaves upon the cherry and one swallow come, red windy dawn, swift rain and sunny, wild bee seeking honey, crocus on the lawn. Blossom on the plum, grass begins to grow, dandy lions come, snow drops haste to go, after last month's snow, rough winds beat and blow, Blossom on the plum. Succession of the Four Sweet Months by Robert Herrick from the junior classics volume 10 part 2 poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by Sarah Brown, S. Extinction Vermont. First April she with mellow showers opens the way for early flowers. Then after her comes smiling May in a more rich and sweet array. Next enters June and brings us more, gems than those two that went before. Then lastly July comes and she, more wealth brings in than all those three. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. March by William Wordsworth from the junior classics volume 10 part 2. Poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by Caroline Kiley. The cock is crowing, the stream is flowing, the little birds Twitter, the lake doth glitter, the green field sleeps in the sun. The oldest and the youngest are at work with the strongest. The cattle are grazing, their heads never raising. There are 40 feeding like one, like an army defeated, the snow hath retreated. And now doth fair ill, on the top of the bare hill. The plow boy is whooping and on and on. There's joy in the mountains, there's life in the fountains. Small clouds are sailing, blue sky prevailing. The rain is over and gone. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Away fairing song by Henry Van Dyke from the junior classics volume 10 part 2. Poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by John Rushton. Oh, who will walk a mile with me along life's merry way? A comrade, blind and full of glee, who dares to laugh out loud and free, and let his frolic fancy play, like a happy child to the flower's gay, that fill the field and fringe the way, where he walks a mile with me. And who will walk a mile with me along life's weary way? A friend whose heart has eyes to see, the stars shine out over the darkening lee, and the quiet rest at the end of day. A friend who knows and dares to say. The brave, sweet words that cheer the way, where he walks a mile with me. With such a comrade, such a friend, I feign would walk till journey's end, through summer sunshine, winter rain, and then, farewell, we shall meet again. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Hark! Hark! The Lark by William Shakespeare from the junior classics volume 10 part 2. Poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by John Rushton. Hark! Hark! The Lark at Heaven's Gate sings, and Phoebus grins arise, his steeds to water at those springs on chalice flowers that lies, and winking merry buds begin to ope their golden eyes. With everything that pretty is, my lady-sweet, arise, arise, arise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Arrow and the Song by Henry W. Longfellow from the junior classics volume 10 part 2. Poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by Sarah Brown, S. Extinction Vermont. I shot an arrow into the air. It fell to earth I knew not where. For so swiftly it flew, the sight could not follow in its flight. I breathed a song into the air. It fell to earth I knew not where. For who has sight so keen and strong, that it can follow the flight of song? Long long afterward in an oak, I found the arrow still unbroken. And the song from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Sea by Barry Cornwell from the junior classics volume 10 part 2. Poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. The sea, the sea, the open sea. The blue, the fresh, the ever-free. Without a mark, without a bound, it runneth the earth's wide regions round. It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies, or like a cradled creature lies. I'm on the sea, I'm on the sea, I'm where I would ever be. With the blue above and the blue below, and silence wheresoever I go. If a storm should come and awake the deep, what matter? I shall ride and sleep. I love, oh, how I love to ride, on the fierce foaming bursting tight, where every mad wave drowns the moon, and whistles aloft its tempest tune, and tells how goes the world below, and why the southwest wind does blow. I never was on the dull tame shore, but I loved the great sea more and more. And backward flew to her billowy breast, like a bird that seeketh her mother's nest, like a mother she was and is to me, for I was born on the open sea. The waves were white, and red the morn, in the noisy hour when I was born. The whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, and the dolphins bared their backs of gold. And never was heard such an outcry wild as welcomed to life the ocean child. I have lived since then in calm and strife, full fifty summers, a rover's life, with wealth to spend and a power to range, but never have sought or sighed for change, and death, whenever he comes for me, shall come on the wide, unbounded sea. And of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Small Beginnings by Charles McKay From the Junior Classics Volume 10 Part 2 Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org A traveller through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lee, and one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree. Love sought its shade at evening time to breathe its early vows, and age was pleased in heats of noon to bask beneath its vows. The door-mouse loved its dangling twigs, the bird's sweet music bore. It stood aglory in its place, a blessing ever more. A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern, a passing stranger scooped a well where weary men might turn. He walled it in and hung with care a ladle at the brink. He thought not of the deed he did, but judged the toil might drink. He passed again and lo the well by summers never dried, had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life beside. A dreamer dropped a random thought, it was old, and yet it was new, a simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind, and lo its light became, a lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monetary flame. The thought was small, its issue great, a watch fire on the hill. It sheds its radiance far down, and cheers the valley still. A nameless man amid the crowd that thronged the daily mart, let fall a word of hope and love unstudied from the heart. A whisper on the tumult throne, a transitory breath, it raised a brother from the dust, it saved a soul from death. Oh germ, oh fount, oh word of love, how thought at random cost. You were but little at the first, but mighty at the last. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Voyagers by Emily Dickinson, from the junior classics volume 10 part 2, poems old and new, read for LibriVox.org. There is no frigate like a book, to take us lands away, nor any coarsers like a page of prancing poetry. This traverse may the porous take, without a press of toil. How frugal is the chariot, that bears a human soul. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Opportunity by Edward Roland Sill, from the junior classics volume 10 part 2, poems old and new, read for LibriVox.org. According by Tony Dark. This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream. There spread a cloud of dust along a plain, and underneath the cloud, or in it, raged a furious battle, and men yelled, and swords shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge, and thought, Had I a sword of keener steel? What blue blade that the king's son bears, But this blunt thing, he snapped and flung it from his hand. Lowering crept away, left the field. Then came the king's son wounded, sore, bestowed and weaponless, and saw the broken sword hilt buried in the dry and trodden sand, and ran and snapped it, and with battle shout lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down, and saved a great cause that heroic day. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tony Dark. Labor Song by Dennis McCarthy From the Junior Classics Volume 10 Part 2 Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org Recording by John Rushton Ah, little they know of true happiness, They whom saintly fills, Who flung on the rich breast of luxury, Eat of the rankness that kills, Ah, little they know of the blessedness, Tall purchase slumber enjoys, Who stretched on the hard rack of indolence, Taste of the sleep that destroys, Nothing to hope for, or lay before, Nothing to sign for, or gain, Nothing to light in its vividness, Lighting like a bosom and brain, Nothing to break life's monotony, Rippling it over with its breath, Nothing but dullness and lethargy, We're in a sorrow and death. But blessed that child of humanity, Happiest man among a man, Who, with hammer or chisel or pencil, With rudder or plowshare or pen, Labrith ever and ever, With hope through the morning of life, Winning home and its darling divinities, Love worshiped children and wife, Round swings the hammer of industry, Quickly the sharp chisel rings, And the heart of the toiler has throbbing's that stir, Not the bosom of kings, He is the true ruler and conqueror, He is the true king of his race, Who nervous his arm for life's combat, And looks the strong world in the face. End of Poet. This recording is in the public domain. The Village Blacksmith by Henry W. Longfellow from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org by Phil Schimpf. Under a spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands, the smith, a mighty man is he, with large and sinewy hands, and the muscles of his brawny arms are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp and black and long, his face is like the tan, his brow is wet with honest sweat, he earns whatever he can, and looks the whole world in the face, for he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, you can hear his bellows blow, you can hear him swing his heavy sledge with measured beat and slow, like a sexton ringing the village bell when the evening sun is low, and children coming home from school look in at the open door. They love to see the flaming forge and hear the bellows roar, and catch the burning sparks that fly, like chaff from a threshing floor. He goes on Sunday to the church and sits among his boys. He hears the parson pray and preach, he hears his daughter's voice, singing in the village choir, and it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, singing in paradise. He needs must think of her once more, how in the grave she lies, and with his hard rough hand he wipes a tear out of his eyes, toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, onward through life he goes. Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close. Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose. Thanks. Thanks to thee, my worthy friend, for the lesson thou has taught. Thus at the flaming forge of life our fortunes must be wrought, thus on its sounding anvil-shaped, each burning deed and thought. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Life is a leaf of paper white, whereon each one of us may write, his word or two, and then comes night. Though thou have time, but for a line be that sublime. Not failure, but low aim is crime. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tony Dark. The Happiest Heart by John Vance Cheney. From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Dark. Who drives the horses of the sun, shall lord it by the day, better the lowly deed were done and kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, the dust will hide the crown, eye none shall nail, so high his name Tywin will not tear it down. The Happiest Heart that ever beat was in some quiet breast, that found the common daylight sweet and left to have in the rest. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tony Dark. The Noble Nature by Ben Johnson. From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Dark. It is not growing like a tree, and bulk doth make man better be, or standing long an oak 300 year to fall a log at last dry bald and sear. A lily of a day is fairer far in May, although it fall and die that night, it was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauty see, and in short measures life may perfect be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tony Dark. End Significant Existence by Isaac Watts. From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by Sarah Brown, S Extension, Vermont. There are a number of us creep into this world to eat and sleep, and no no reason why we're born, but only to consume the corn. Devour the cattle, fowl, and fish, and leave behind an empty dish. The crows and ravens do the same, unlucky birds of hateful name. Ravens or crows might fill their place, and swallow corn and carcasses. Then if their tombstone when they die, beent taught to flatter and to lie, there's nothing better will be said, than that they've eat up all their bread, drunk up their drink, and gone to bed. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. For All That, by Robert Burns. From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by John Rushton. Is there, for honest poverty, that hangs his head and all that, the coward slave we pass him by, we dare be poor for all that, for all that and all that, our toils obscure and all that, the rank is but the guinea stamp, the man's the good for all that, what though unheimly fair we dine, wear hot and gray and all that, give fools their silks and knaves their wine, a man's a man for all that, for all that and all that, their tinsel-show and all that, the honest man, the way I say poor, is king of men for all that. You see, Yon Berkey, Carder-Lord, wasstruts and stares and all that, though hundreds worship at his word, he's but a coup for all that, for all that and all that, his ryband, star and all that, the man of independent mind, he looks and laughs at all that, a prince can make a belted knight, a marky duke and all that, but an honest man abound his might, give faith his momma faith that, for all that and all that, their dignities and all that, the pith, the sense and the pride of worth are higher rank than all that, then let us pray that come it may, as come it will for all that, that sense and worth over all the earth may bear the grie and all that, for all that and all that, it's come in yet for all that, that man to man, the world, or shall brothers be for all that. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Cardinal Wolsey speech to Cromwell, by William Shakespeare, from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear in all my miseries, but thou hast forced me, out of thy honest truth, to play the woman, let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell, and when I am forgotten as I shall be, and sleep in dull cold marble where no mention of me must be heard of, say I taught thee, say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, and sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, found thee away, out of his wreck, to rise in, assure and safe one, though thy master missed it, mark but my fall, and that ruined me. Cromwell, I charged thee, fling away ambition, by that sin fell the angels. How can man, then, the image of his maker, hope to win by it? Love thy self last, cherish those hearts that hate thee, corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, to silence envious tongues, be just and fear not, that all the ends thou aimest at be thy countries, thy gods and truths, then if thou failest, O Cromwell, thou failest a blessed martyr, serve the king, and prithee lead me in. There take an inventory of all I have, to the last penny, just the kings. My robe and my integrity to heaven is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age have left me naked to mine enemies. From Henry VIII. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Woolsey's Fall by William Shakespeare from the Junior Classics Volume X, Part II. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Lurie Wilson. Farewell. A long farewell to all my greatness. This is the state of man. Today he puts forth the tender leaves of hope. Tomorrow blossoms, and bears his bushing honors thick upon him. The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, and when he thinks good easy man fold surely his greatness is a ripening, nips his root, and then he falls as I do. I have ventured like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, this many summers in a sea of glory, but far beyond my depth, my high-blown pride at length broke under me, and now has left me weary and old with service to the mercy of a rude stream that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world I hate ye. I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how wretched is that poor man that hangs on Prince's favors. There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have. And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer never to hope again. From Henry VIII. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Seven Ages of Man by William Shakespeare from the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part II. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts. He acts being Seven Ages. At first the infant mulling and puking in the nurse's arms, then the whining schoolboy with his satchel and shining morning face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school. And then the lover sighing like furnace, with a waffle ballad made to his mistress's eyebrow. Then a soldier full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, jealous in honor, sudden and quick and quarrel, seeking the bubble reputation, even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice in fair round belly with good cap unlined, with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances. And so he plays his part. The Sixth Age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon, with spectacles on nose and pouch on side, his youthful hose well-saved, a world too wide for his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice turning again toward childish treble, pipes and whistles in his sound. The last scene of all that ends this strange eventful history is second childishness and mere oblivion, son's teeth, son's eyes, son's taste, son's everything. From As You Like It, in the poem, this recording is in the public domain. Jog On, by William Shakespeare. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, poems old and new, read for LibraVox.org, recording by Emily Prusky-Armholtz. Jog On, Jog On, the footpath way, and merely hint the style A. A merry heart goes all the day, your sad tires in a mile A. From the winter stale, end of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Polonius's Advice, by William Shakespeare. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, poems old and new, read for LibraVox.org, by Julian Pratley. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice. Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, but not expressed in fancy, rich not gaudy, for the apparel oft proclaims the man. Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all, to thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night of the day, thou canst not then be false to any man. From Hamlet End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Reputation, by William Shakespeare. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, poems old and new, read for LibraVox.org. Recording, by Emily Presky-Arenholz. Good name in man or woman, dear my lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls. Who steals my purse, steals trash. To something, nothing. To his mind, to his, and has been slave to thousands. But he that filters from me my good name, robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor indeed. From Othello End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Over Hill, Over Dale, by William Shakespeare. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, poems old and new, read for LibraVox.org. Recording, by Emily Presky-Arenholz. Over Hill, Over Dale, Thurl Bush, Thurl Breyer. Over Park, Over Pale, Thurl Flood, Thurl Fire. I do wander everywhere, swifter than the moon's sphere, and I serve the fairy queen to do her orbs upon the green. The cow slips tall, her pensioners be. In their gold coats, spots you see. Those be rubies, fairy favors. In those freckles, live their savers. I must go seek some dew drops here, and hang a pearl in every cow's lips ear. From A Midsummer Night's Dream. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. I Know a Bank, by William Shakespeare. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, poems old and new, read for LibraVox.org. I Know a Bank, where the wild time blows, where ox slips, and the nodding violet grows. Quite over canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk roses, and with eglentine. There sleeps Titania some time of the night, longed in these flowers when dances and delight. And there the snake throws her enameled skin, weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. In Gratitude, by William Shakespeare. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, Poems Old and New, read for LibraVox.org. Blow, blow, thy winter wind. Thou are not so unkind as man's in gratitude. Thy tooth is not so keen, because thou are not seen. Although thy breath be rude. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, that does not bite so nigh, as benefits forgot. Though thou the water's warp, thy sting is not so sharp, as friend remembered not. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Where the bee sucks by William Shakespeare. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, Poems Old and New, read for LibraVox.org. Where the bee sucks, there suck I, in a cow-slip spell I lie. There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, after summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now, under the blossom that hangs on the bow. From the tempest. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Cardinal Wolsey, speech to Cromwell, by William Shakespeare. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two, Poems Old and New, read for LibraVox.org, by Larry Wilson. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear in all my miseries, but thou hast forced me, out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell. And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, and sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention of me must be heard of, say I taught thee. Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, and sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, found thee away, out of his wreck, to rise in. Assure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that ruined me. Cromwell, I charged thee, flinging away ambition. By that sin fell the angels. How can man, then, the image of his maker, hope to win by it? Love thy self last. Cherish those hearts that hate thee. Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, to silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. That all the ends thou aimest at be thy countries, thy gods and truths. Then, if thou failest, O Cromwell, thou failest a blessed martyr. Serve the king, and prithee lead me in. There, taken inventory of all I have, to the last penny, just the kings, my robe and my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king. He would not in my age have left me naked to my enemies. From Henry VIII. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, to throw a perfume on the violet, to smooth the ice, or add another hue unto the rainbow, or with taper light, to seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, is wasteful and ridiculous excess. From King John. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Peddler's Pack, by William Shakespeare. From the Junior Classics, Volume X, Part II. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shempf. Enter Atollicus, singing. Lawn as white as driven snow, Cyprus black as air was crow, Gloves as sweet as damask roses, Masks for faces and fore-nosers, Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber, Golden coifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their deers, Pins and poking sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel? Come by of me, come, Come by, come by, By lads, or else your lasses cry, Come by. From Winter's Tale. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Fairies Lullaby, by William Shakespeare. From the Junior Classics, Volume X, Part II. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org. Recording by John Rushton. Enter Titania with her train. Titania. Come, now a roundel and a fairy song. Then, for the third part of a minute, hence, Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds, Some war with rear mice for their leather and wings, To make my small elves coats, And some keep back the clamorous owl, That nightly hoots and wonders at our quaint spirits. Sing me now a sleep, then to your office, And let me rest. First Fairy. You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedgehogs be not seen, Nutes and blind worms do no wrong, Come not near our Fairy Queen. Filaman, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby, Lulla, lulla, lullaby, Lulla, lulla, lullaby. Never harm, nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh, So good night with lullaby. Weaving spiders, come not here. Hence, you long-leg spinners, hence, Beetles black approach not near. Worm nor snail do no offence. Filaman, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby, Lulla, lulla, lullaby, Lulla, lulla, lullaby. Never harm, nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh, So good night with lullaby. Second Fairy. Hence, away, now all is well, One aloof stands sentinel. From a Midsummer's Night's Dream. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Come unto these yellow sands, By William Shakespeare. From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2. Poems Old and New. Red for LibriVox.org. Recording by John Rushton. Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands, Curts it when you have, And kiss the wild waves' wist, Foot it fleetly here and there, And sweet sprites the berth and bear, Hark, hark! Bow wow! The watchdog's bark, Bow wow! Hark, hark! I hear the strain of a strutting, Chanting clear, Cry cock-a-doodle-dowl. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Opportunity. By William Shakespeare. From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2. Poems Old and New. Red for LibriVox.org. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Permitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures from Julius Caesar. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kalpana. Utspur's Description of a Fop. By William Shakespeare. From the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2. Poems Old and New. Red for LibriVox.org. By Phil Shampf. But I remember when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Wrathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reaped, Showed like a stubble-land at harvest home. He was perfumed like a milliner, And twixed his finger in his thumb, He held a pouncet-box, Whichever an anon he gave his nose, And took away again. Who therewith angry, when a necks came there, Took it in snuff, and still he smiled and talked. And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called them untaught-naves, unmanorly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome course, Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms, He questioned me. Amongst the rest demanded my prisoners In your majesty's behalf. I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, To be so pestered with a pop and jay, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answered neglectingly, I know not what. He should, or he should not, For he may be mad to see him shine so brisk, And smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns and drums and wounds, God save the mark. And telling me the sovereignst's thing on earth Was parmasiti for an inward bruise, And that it was a great pity. So it was. This villainous salt-peter should be Digged out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed so cowardly, And but for these vile guns He would himself have been a soldier. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Buttercup by Jane Ingello from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, poem sold and new, read for LibriVox.org. And all the buttercups that failed of the clock of gold Were pen and swarm, Where France set up his lilyed shield, his oriflam, And Henry's lion-standard rolled. What was it to their matchless sheen, Their million, million drops of gold? Among the green. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kalpana. Knowledge by William Kauper from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems old and new, read for LibriVox by Julian Pratley. Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft times no connection. Knowledge dwells in heads replete with thoughts of other men, wisdom in minds attentive to their own. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To the Lord General Cromwell by John Milton from the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems old and new, read for LibriVox. Recording by Larry Wilson. Cromwell, our chief of men, Who threw a cloud not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way has plowed, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud, Has to reared God's trophies and his work pursued, While Darwin streamed with blood of Scots and brood, And Dunbar Field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate to reap, Yet much remains to conquer still, Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war, New foes arise threatening to bind our souls with secular chains, Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is in their maw. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Rainbow by William Wordsworth From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems old and new, Read for Libri Vox by Julian Pratley My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky, So was it when my life began, So is it now I am a man, So be it when I shall grow old, or let me die. The child is father of the man, And I could wish my days to be bound each to each by natural piety. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On His Blindness by John Milton From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems old and new, Read for Libri Vox.org by Phil Shampf When I consider how my light is spent, Air half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, Though my soul more bent to serve there with my maker And present my true account, lest he returning chide, Doth God exact a day labor light denied, I fondly ask? But patience, to prevent that murmur soon replies, God doth not need either man's work or his own gifts. Who best bear his mild yoke? They serve him best. His state is kingly, thousands at his bidding speed, And post or land and ocean without rest. They also serve who only stand and wait. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Affair Well by Charles Kingsley From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems old and new, Read for Libri Vox. Recording by Larry Wilson My fairest child, I have no song to give you, No lark could pipe to sky so dull and gray, Yet ere we part, one less and I can leave you for every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever. Do noble things, not dream them all day long, And so make life, death, and that vast forever One grand, sweet song. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To Milton, by William Wordsworth From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2, Poems old and new, Read for Libri Vox. Org by Phil Shampf. Milton, thou shouldst be living at this hour, Anglin hath need of thee, She is a fenn of stagnant waters, Alters, sword, and pen. Fireside, the heroic wealth of haul and bower, Have forfeited their ancient, Eglish dower of inward happiness. We are selfish men. Oh, raise us up, Return to us again, and give us manners, Virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart. Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free. So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness, and yet Thy heart, the lowliest duties on herself, did lay. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Perseverance by Edward Fitzgerald From the junior classics volume 10 part 2, Poems old and new, Read for Libri Vox.org Fancy thou not, though weary, As if one, the journey's end, were only just begun, For not a mountain peak with toil attained, But shows atop yet higher to be gained, Wherefore still forward, forward. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Retribution by Henry W. Longfellow From the junior classics volume 10 part 2, Poems old and new, Read for Libri Vox.org Though the mills of God grind slowly, Yet they grind exceeding small, Though with patience he stands waiting, With exactness grinds he all. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Gettysburg Address by Abraham Lincoln From the junior classics volume 10 part 2, Poems old and new, Read for Libri Vox.org by Larry Wilson President Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, which Dr. Elliott especially mentions in his introduction, while not a poem in form, embodies the loftiest conception of what true patriotism really is. For that reason this world classic is here inserted at the head of patriotic poems. Four score in seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives, that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate. We cannot consecrate. We cannot hollow this ground. The brave men living and dead who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these under dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion. That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain. That this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom and that government of the people, by the people for the people, shall not perish from the earth. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. America by S. F. Smith from the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2, Poems Older New. Read for LibriVox. Recording by Larry Wilson. My country, tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims' pride, and from every mountainside let freedom ring. My native country, thee, land of the noble free, thy name I love. I love thy rocks and rills, thy woods and tippled hills, my heart with rapture thrills like that above. Let music swell the breeze, and ring from all the trees sweet freedom song. Let mortal tongues awake, let all that breathe partake, that rocks their silence break, the sound prolong. Our Father's God, to thee, author of liberty, to thee we sing. Long may our land be bright with freedom's holy light. Protect us by thy might, great God our King. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Star Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key from the Junior Classics Volume 10, Part 2. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. O say can you see by the dawn's early light what so proudly we held at the twilight's last gleaming, whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, or the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming. The rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave or the land of the free and the home of the brave. On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, where the foe's hotty host in dread silence reposes, what is that which the breeze or the towering's deep, as it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses. Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, in full glory reflected, now shines on the stream. Dis the star-spangled banner, O long may it wave or the land of the free and the home of the brave. And where is that band who so wantonly swore that the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, a home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps pollution. No refuge could save the hireling enslaved from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave. And the star-spangled banner and triumph doth wave or the land of the free and the home of the brave. O thus be it ever when free men shall stand between their loved homes and the war's desolation. Blessed with victory and peace may the heaven-rescued land praise the power that hath made in preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, and this be our motto, in God is our trust. And the star-spangled banner and triumph shall wave or the land of the free and the home of the brave. In the poem this recording is in the public domain. Dixie by Daniel D'Catter Emmet from the junior classics volume 10 part 2 called Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org recording by Chad Horner from Ballyclair in Coneyon to Northern Ireland situated in the northeast of the island of Ireland. I wish I was in the land of cotton, old time star and knot, forgotten. Look away, look away, look away, in Dixie land where I was born in. Early on a frosty morning. Look away, look away, look away. Then I wish I was in Dixie, hooray, hooray. In Dixie land I'll take my stand to live and die in Dixie. Away, away, away down south in Dixie. Old Muses Mari, wealthy waiver. William was a gay disable. Look away, look away, look away. But when he put his arm around her, he smiled at his face as a 40-pounder. Look away, look away, look away. His face was as sharp as a butcher's cleaver, but that did not seem too griever. Look away, look away, look away. Old Muses act the foolish part and died for a man that broke her heart. Look away, look away, look away. Now here's a health to the next old Muses and all the girls that want to kiss us. Look away, look away, look away. But if you want to drive way sorrow, come and hear this song tomorrow. Look away, look away, look away. Dars buckwheat cakes and engine butter. Make she fat or a little fatter. Look away, look away, look away. Then hold it down and scratch your gravel to Dixie's land that I'm buying to travel. Look away, look away, look away. End of poem this recording is in the public domain. Rule Britannia by James Thompson From the junior classics Volume 10, Part 2 Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox Recording by John Rushton When Britain first, at Heaven's command, arose from out the Azure Main, this was the charter of the land and guardian angels sing the strain. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, Britons never will be slaves. The nations, not so blessed as thee, must in their turn to tyrants fall, whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free, the dread and envy of them all. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, Britons never will be slaves. Still more majestic thou shalt rise, more dreadful from each foreign stroke, as the loud blasts that tear thy skies serve but to root thy native oak. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, Britons never will be slaves. The haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame all their attempts to hurl thee down, will but arouse thy generous flame and work their woe but thy renown. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, Britons never will be slaves. To thee belongs the rural rain, thy city shall with commerce shine, all thine shall be the subject main, and every shore encircle thine. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, Britons never will be slaves. The muses still with freedom found shall to thy happy coast repair, blessed aisle with matchless beauty crowned and manly hearts to guard the fair. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, Britons never will be slaves. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Middashing wave and clang of steel, The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine, Who guards today my stream divine. Dear Fatherland, no danger thine, Dear Fatherland, no danger thine, Firm stand thy sons to watch, to watch the Rhine. Firm stand thy sons to watch, to watch the Rhine. They stand a hundred thousand strong, Quick to avenge their country's strong, With foul love their bosoms well, They'll guard the sacred landmark well. Dear Fatherland, no danger thine, Dear Fatherland, no danger thine, Firm stand thy sons to watch, to watch the Rhine. Firm stand thy sons to watch, to watch the Rhine. While flows one drop of German blood, Or sword remains to guard thy flood, While rifle rests in patriot's hand, No foe shall tread thy sacred strand. Dear Fatherland, no danger thine, Dear Fatherland, no danger thine, Firm stand thy sons to watch, To watch the Rhine. Firm stand thy sons to watch, to watch the Rhine. Our oath resounds, the river flows, In golden light our banner glows, Our hearts will guard thy stream divine, The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine. Dear Fatherland, no danger thine, Dear Fatherland, no danger thine, Firm stand thy sons to watch, to watch the Rhine. Firm stand thy sons to watch, to watch the Rhine. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Marcelet Hymne by Rouget de Lis. From the junior classics volume 10 part 2, poems old and new, read for LibriVox.org. Ye sons of freedom, wake to glory, Hark, hark, what mirids bid, you rise, Your children, wives, and grand sires, Horry, behold their tears and hear their cries, Shall hateful tyrants mischest breeding, With hireling hosts a ruffian band, Afright and desolate the land, While peace and liberty lie bleeding, To arms, to arms, ye brave, the avenging sword unsheath. March on, march on, all hearts resolved, On victory or death. Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling, Which treacherous kings confederate raise, The dogs of war let loose or howling, And though our fields and cities blaze, And shall we basely view the ruin, While lawless force with guilty stride, Spreads desolation far and wide, With crimes and blood his hands in brewing, To arms, to arms, ye brave, the avenging sword unsheath. March on, march on, all hearts resolved, On victory or death. O liberty, can man resign thee, Once having felt thy generous flame? Can dungeons bolts or bars confine thee, Or whip thy noble spirit tame? Too long the world has wet, bewailing, That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield. But freedom is our sword and shield, And all their arts are unveiling. To arms, to arms, ye brave, the avenging sword unsheath. March on, march on, all hearts resolved, On victory or death. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Swedish National Air From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part 2, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org. Though ancient, though healthful, though mountainous north, Where joy with peaceful beauties dallys, I hail thee, fairest land on earth, Thy sun, thy sky, and green valleys, Thy sun, thy sky, and green valleys. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. National Hymn of Norway From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part 2, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org. Love we well, our storm-beaten land, Looking forth with vision clear. Yes, we love our native land, and thousand homes, so dear. Cherish we the home of parents, land of Norsemen bold, With the stories to us given, from the sagas old, With the weird and wondrous stories, like lingering dreams of old. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Italian National Hymn From the Junior Classics, volume 10, part 2, Poems Old and New, read for LibriVox.org. All forward, all forward, all forward to battle, The trumpets are crying. All forward, all forward, our old plague is flying. When liberty calls us, we linger no longer. Rebels come on, though a thousand to one. Liberty, liberty, deathless and glorious. Under thy banner, thy sons are victorious. Free souls are valent, and strong arms are stronger. God shall go with us, and battle be won. Her raw for the banner, her raw for the banner. Her raw for our banner, the flag of the free. All forward, all forward, all forward for freedom. In terrible splendor, she comes to the loyal, who die to defend her. Her stars and stripes, or the wild wave of battle, Shall float in the heavens to welcome us on. All forward to glory, through life blood is pouring, Where bright swords are flashing, and cannons are roaring. Welcome to death in the bullets, quick rattle. Fighting or falling, shall freedom be won. Her raw for the banner, her raw for the banner. Her raw for our banner, the flag of the free. All forward, all forward, all forward to conquer. Where free hearts are beating, death to the coward, Who dreams of retreating. Liberty calls us from mountain and valley. Waving her banner, she leads to the fight. Forward, all forward, the trumpets are crying. The drum beats to arms, our old flag is flying. Stout hearts and strong hands around it, shall rally. Forward to battle, for God and the right. Her raw for the banner, her raw for the banner. Her raw for our banner, the flag of the free. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Danish national hymn. From the junior classics, volume 10, part two. Poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. King Christian stood by lofty mast. In mist and smoke, his sword was hammering so fast. Through gothic helm and brain it passed. Then sank each hostile hawk and mast. In mist and smoke, fly, shouted they, fly he who can, who braves of Denmark's Christian. Who braves of Denmark's Christian, the stroke. Nals jewel gave he to the tempest roar. Now is the hour. He hoisted his blood red flag once more. And smote upon the foe, full sore. And shouted loud, throw the tempest roar. Now is the hour. Fly, shouted they, for shelter fly. Of Denmark's jewel, who can defy. Of Denmark's jewel, who can defy the power. Nor see a glimpse of vessel rent. Thy murky sky. Then champions to thine arms were sent. Terror and death glared where he went. From the waves was heard a wail that rent. Thy murky sky. From Denmark thunders, tore dense gul. Let each to heaven command his soul. Let each to heaven command his soul and fly. Path of the dain to fame and might. Dark rolling wave. Receive thy friend, whose scorning flight. Goes to meet danger with, despite. Proudly as thou, the tempest might. Dark rolling wave. Mid-minkle pleasures and alarms. And war and victory be thine arms. Mid-war and victory be thine arms, my grave. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Spanish national hymn from the junior classics, volume 10, part 2. Poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. Spread the tidings afar to the nations. Let them learn from the freedom of Spain. For the laws are the people's salvation, and are king as their servant shall reign. For their country, two Spaniards will dare it. Dare to perish for liberty's cause. To the tories' destruction, we swear it. Live forever the king and the laws. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Austrian national song from the junior classics, volume 10, part 2. Poems old and new. Read for LibriVox.org. God uphold thee, mighty emperor, monarch of our eastern land. Power and wisdom, err, attend thee. Righteousness with thee shall stand. Till the laurel crowned of Victor, all hearts bow at thy command. God uphold thee and defend thee, emperor of our Austrian land. Happy flowery land, his scepter rolls our valley mount. Mildly calmly, justly, ruleth, he the people's love would gain. Yet his weapon might, in splendor, beams through all the land amane. God uphold thee, warrior father, monarch of our Austrian land. He delights the poor to cherish. He awakes the minstrel's lay. He would not that any perish. All admire the gentle sway. Heaven reward him, God defend him. Thus we sing, and thus we pray. Kaiser, emperor, monarch, father, all thy peaceful rule obey. He from bondage will deliver. He would make us truly free. In the German heart shall ever, he the brightest memory be. Till in other worlds a welcome greets in blessed eternity. God defend thee, God attend thee, emperor, friends, all hail to thee. End of Poem This recording is in the public domain. The Hand of Lincoln by Edmund C. Steadman From the Junior Classics, Volume 10, Part 2. Poems Old and New. Read for LibriVox.org Look on this cast and know the hand That bore a nation in its hold. From this mute witness understand What Lincoln was, how large of mold. The man who sped the woodman's team And deepest sunk the plowman's share And pushed the laden raft astream Of fate before him unaware. This was the hand that knew to swing The axe since thus would freedom train. Her son and made the forest ring And drove the wedge and toiled a mane. Firm hand that loftier office took A conscious leader's will obeyed. And when men sought his word and look With steadfast might the gathering swayed. No courtiers toying with a sword Nor minstrels laid across a lute At chiefs uplifted to the Lord When all the things of earth were mute. The hand of a knack singed strong The fingers that on greatness clutch Yet lo the marks their lines along Of one who strove and suffered much. For here in knotted cord and vein I traced the varying chart of years. I know the troubled heart the strain The weight of atlas and the tears. Again I see the patient brow That palm or wile was wont to press. And now to furrow deep and now Made smooth with hope and tenderness For something of a formless grace This molded outline plays about A pitying flame beyond our trace Breeze like a spirit in and out The love that cast an oriole Round one who longer to endure Called mirth to ease his ceaseless dole Yet kept his nobler purpose sure Lo as I gaze the statured man Built up from yawn large hand peers A type that nature wills to plan But once in all a people's years What better than this voiceless cast To tell of such a one as he Since through its living semblance Past the thought that bade a race be free And of poem this recording is in the public domain Battle hymn of the republic by Julia Ward Howe from the junior classics volume 10 part 2 Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword His truth is marching on I have seen him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps They have billed at him an altar in the evening dews and lamps I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps His day is marching on I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel As ye deal with my contenders so with you my grace shall deal Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel Since God is marching on He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat O be swift my soul to answer him Be jubilant my feet Our God is marching on In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me As he died to make men holy Let us die to make men free While God is marching on In the poem this recording is in the public domain The flag goes by by Henry H. Bennett From the junior classics volume 10 part 2 Palms old and new red for lemur vox dot org Hats off along the street there comes A blare of bugles a ruffle of drums A flash of color beneath the sky Hats off The flag is passing by Blue and crimson and white it shines Over the steel tipped ordered lines Hats off the colors before us fly But more than the flag is passing by Sea fights and land fights grim and great Fought to make and to save the state Weary marches and sinking ships Chairs of victory on dying lips Days of plenty and years of peace March of a strong land swift increase Equal justice right and law Stately honor and reverend awe Sign of a nation great and strong Toward her people from foreign wrong Pride and glory and honor all Live in the colors to stand or fall Hats off along the street there comes A blare of bugles a ruffle of drums And loyal hearts are beating high Hats off the flag is passing by In the poem this recording is in the public domain Fatherland by Sir Walter Scott From the Junior Classics Volume 10 Part 2 Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org Breeze there the man was soul so dead Who never to himself hath said This is my own my native land Whose heart hath narrow within him burned As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand If such there breathe go mark him well For him no minstrel raptures swell High though his titles proud his name Boundless his wealth as wish can claim Despite those titles power and pelf The wretch concentred all in self Living shall forfeit fair renown And doubly dying shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung Unwept unhonored and unsung End of poem this recording is in the public domain Boren's Address to the American Soldiers by John Pierpont From the Junior Classics Volume 10 Part 2 Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org Stand the grounds your own my braves Will ye give it up to slaves Will ye look for greener graves Hope ye mercy still What's the mercy despots feel Hear it in that battle peel Read it on yawn bristling steel Ask it ye who will Fear ye foes who kill for hire Will ye too your homes retire Look behind you there afire And before you see Who have done it from the veil On they come and will equale Let in rain and iron hail Let their welcome be In the god of battles trust Die we may and die we must But oh where can dust to dust Be consigned so well As where heaven its dues shall shed On the bartered patriot's bed And the rocks shall raise their head Of his deeds to tell End of poem this recording is in the public domain The Old Flag by H. C. Bunner From the Junior Classics Volume 10 Part 2 Poems Old and New Read for LibriVox.org Off with your hat as the flag goes by And let the heart have its say Your man enough for a tear in your eye That you will not wipe away Your man enough for a thrill that goes To your very fingertips A. The lump just thin in your throat that rose Spoke more than your parted lips Lift up the boy on your shoulder high And show him the faded shred Those stripes would be red as the sunset sky If death could have died them red The man that bore it with death has lain This twenty years and more He died that the work should not be in vain Of the men who bore it before The man that bears it is bent and old And ragged his beard and gray But look at his eye fire young and bold At the tune that he hears them play The old tune thunders through all the air And strikes right into the heart If ever it calls for you boy be there Be there and ready to start Off with your hat as the flag goes by Uncover the youngster's head Teach him to hold it holy and high For the sake of its sacred dead End of poem this recording is in