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Poems Every Child Should Know by  Mary E. Burt

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Poems Every Child Should Know
by Mary E. Burt
An outstanding collection of poems that appeal to both boys and girls, compiled by a teacher who believed in the formative power of learning poetry by heart. 'Children,' she maintains, 'should build for their future and get, while they are children, what only the fresh imagination of the child can assimilate. They should store up an untold wealth of heroic sentiment; they should acquire the habit of carrying a literary quality in their conversation; they should carry a heart full of the fresh and delightful associations and memories connected with poetry hours to brighten mature years. They should develop their memories while they have memories to develop.' The poems are grouped into six sections (The Budding Moment, The Little Child, The Day's at the Morn, Lad and Lassie, On and On, 'Grow Old Along with Me') to make it easier to locate poems that match a child's maturity.  Ages 8-12
391 pages $14.95   




"The Death of Napoleon," by Isaac McClellan (1806-99), was yet another of the good old reader songs taught us by a teacher of good taste. We love those teachers more the older we grow.

Wild was the night, yet a wilder night

Hung round the soldier's pillow;

In his bosom there waged a fiercer fight

Than the fight on the wrathful billow.


A few fond mourners were kneeling by,

The few that his stern heart cherished;

They knew, by his glazed and unearthly eye,

That life had nearly perished.

They knew by his awful and kingly look,

By the order hastily spoken,

That he dreamed of days when the nations shook,

And the nations' hosts were broken.

He dreamed that the Frenchman's sword still slew,

And triumphed the Frenchman's eagle,

And the struggling Austrian fled anew,

Like the hare before the beagle.

The bearded Russian he scourged again,

The Prussian's camp was routed,

And again on the hills of haughty Spain

His mighty armies shouted.

Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows,

At the pyramids, at the mountain,

Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows,

And by the Italian fountain,

On the snowy cliffs where mountain streams

Dash by the Switzer's dwelling,

He led again, in his dying dreams,

His hosts, the proud earth quelling.

Again Marengo's field was won,

And Jena's bloody battle;

Again the world was overrun,

Made pale at his cannon's rattle.


He died at the close of that darksome day,

A day that shall live in story;

In the rocky land they placed his clay,

"And left him alone with his glory."


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