ENGLISH LEARNING

RAIN ON THE ROOF  -COATES KINNEY When the sky is covered with dark clouds and it starts raining, have you ever listened to the patter of the soft rain on the roof? What thoughts flashed through your mind as you heard this melody of nature? Read the poem to find out what the poet dreamed of while listening to the rain. When the humid shadows hover Over all the starry spheres  And the melancholy darkness Gently weeps in rainy tears,  What a bliss to press the pillow  Of a cottage-chamber bed And lie listening to the patter  Of the soft rain overhead! Every tinkle on the shingles  Has an echo in the heart; And a thousand dreamy fancies Into busy being start, And a thousand recollections Weave their air-threads into woof, As I listen to the patter Of the rain upon the roof. Now in memory comes my mother, As she used in years agone, To regard the darling dreamers Ere she left them till the dawn: O! I feel her fond look on me As I list to this refrain Which is pl...

THE HAPPY PRINCE High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was covered all over with thin layers of fine gold. His eyes were two brilliant sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on the hilt of his sword. The statue was very much admired by all the townspeople. One night a little Swallow flew over the city. His friends had gone away to Egypt several weeks before but he stayed behind because of his love for a beautiful reed. He had met her early in the spring, and had been attracted by her lovely slender form. ‘Shall I love you?’ asked the Swallow in his direct way. The reed said nothing but made him a low and graceful bow. The Swallow flew round and round her, dipping the tips of his wings into the silver rippling water. His courtship lasted all summer and he refused to listen to the taunts of the other swallows. In the autumn they all flew away and left him with his lady-love. When he was alone with her he began to find her less exciting for she ne...

  SERYOZHA'S HOMEWORK Seryozha at his table sat. "I'll do my homework," thought the lad. He had to show the hills and lakes Upon the map without mistakes. But then an electrician knocked And entered, and some time they talked Of things like fuses, which cause fire When we replace them with a wire. The electrician found out then  How folks should jump from sinking boats, And that Seryozha's age was ten. And airplanes occupied his thoughts. But in due cause the light went on The meter worked, the man had gone. Seryozha at his table sat. "I'll do my homework," thought the lad. He had to show the hills and lakes  Upon the map without mistakes. Out of the window, though, he peered: The rain had stopped, the sky had cleared. The yard was dry, so out-of-doors Young football-players came in force. Seryozha pushed his books aside. "Those lakes can wait!" Seryozha cried. They let Seryozha keep the goal; Till four he caught and kicked the ball. Again ...

The Inchcape Rock No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,  The ship was as still as she could be. Her sails from heaven received no motion. Her keel was steady in the ocean. Without either sign or sound of their shock. The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock; So little they rose, so little they fell. They did not move the Inchcape Bell. The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok. Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung. And over the waves its warning rung. When the rock was hid by the surges' swell. The mariners heard the warning bell: And then they knew the perilous Rock. And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok. The sun in heaven was shining gay. All things were joyful on that day; The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round. And there was joyance in their sound. The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen. A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck. And he fixed his eyes on the darker speck. He felt the cheering power of sp...

Six and Out The pitch was only smooth in parts; It sank at either crease, And motor vans and bakers' carts At times disturbed the peace. The bowlers found it hard to hit The lamp-post's slender stem, The broader wicket, opposite, Was cleared at 6 p.m. It was a keen, determined school, Unorthodox and free; Harsh circumstance oft made the rule, And not the M.C.C. The scorer, seated by the wall, Kept up a fire of talk; He was both umpires, crowd, and all, And plied a busy chalk. So, standing, musing on the scene, I let the moments pass: How well he drove it to the screen ..... And then-the crash of glass! I watched the players as they ran, And heard, while yet they fled, The loud voice of an angry man, The law's majestic tread.                                                                   ...

MESSIAH OF THE HUMBLE By Shyamal Roy Beggars are a faceless entity in India, their presence only distinguishable by a whining voice or a sleeve plucked by a grimy hand. One hardly takes a second look at them. But not Shyam Bandopadhyay of Salika, Howrah. To him they are very much part of the society and, therefore, have the right to be so identified. It is not surprising, that beggars are his subject to an unending study. An accounts clerk with the Calcutta State Transport Corporation, ‘Bhikhari Shyam,’- as he is better known, is the founder of the unique organization, perhaps the only one of its kind in the world- the Beggars’ Research Bureau. For the past 20 years, he has been collecting statistics on these hapless people in Calcutta and Howrah and 30,000 individual case histories, that he claims to have chronicled so far, reveal some hitherto unkown facts about beggars. The data reveals that for the vast majority of people who vote our leaders into power, the only means of livelihoo...

  Casabianca  The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but he had fled; The flame, that lit the battle's wreck, Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood; A proud though childlike form! The flames rolled on he would not go,  Without his father's word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He called aloud: 'Say, 'father! Say If yet my task be done?' He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. 'Speak, father!' once again he cried, 'If I may yet be gone! And' but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death, In still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more aloud, 'And father! Must I stay?' While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way: They caught the flag on high  And str...