File:The Cyr Readers- arranged by grades (1901) (14765669475).jpg

Identifier: cryreaders07cyr (find matches)
Title: The Cyr Readers: arranged by grades
Year: 1901 (1900s)
Authors: Cyr, Eleen M.
Subjects: reading
Publisher: New York: Ginn and Company
Contributing Library: Brigham Young University-Idaho, David O. McKay Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Brigham Young University-Idaho

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r native land,Then Heaven bless the Sword! -£3175 £3- ROBERT BURNS. Robert Burns was born near the town of Ayr,Scotland, on the 25th day of January, 1759. WilliamBurns, the brave father, a silent hero and poet, wasa humble farmer, but he had a thirst for knowledge,and longed to give his family an education. He oftenspent his noon hourin pointing out thewonders of nature andimparting to his chil-dren what little knowl-edge he had gained. Robert was sent toschool at Mt. Oliphantin his sixth year; buthis fathers povertygave him little oppor-tunity for education,and at the age of thir-teen he was assistingin threshing the corn,and at sixteen was the principal laborer on the farm. There was an old woman named Betty Davidsonwho lived in the family. She had a store of tales andsongs of fairies, ghosts, witches, dragons, and enchantedtowers. Robert used to listen to these weird stories, 25which had a strong effect upon his imagination. Theyfostered his love of poetry, so that when his hands
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-£3176£3- were busy with the farm work, his mind was gallop-ing off on deeds of chivalry or indulging in flights offancy. The Sabbath was the only time for rest in this busy5 household, and upon that day Robert Burns would befound wandering alone beside the river Ayr and listen-ing to the songs of the birds: The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,Learning his tuneful trade from evry bough;10 The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush. A storm always filled his heart with reverence. Hewrote: There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more 15 —I do not know if I should call it pleasure, but some-thing that exalts me — than to walk in the shelteredside of a wood or high plantation in a cloudy winterday and hear the stormy wind howling among thetrees and raving over the plain. ... I listened to 20 the birds, and frequently turned out of my path lestI should disturb their little songs or frighten them toanother station.

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