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abbot arms auld bard beneath blood blue bold bosom brave breast breeze clouds dark dead dear death deep Douglas dread dream Ettrick face fair fairy fell flew flower forest glen gone gray green grew hall hand harp hast head heard heart heaven Highland hill honours hope Kilmeny knew known lady land light lone looked Lord loud maid maiden Mary midnight mind minstrel moon morning mountain never night NoTE o'er once pale Queen rock rose round rung scarce seemed seen sing sleep smile soft song soul sound spirits stand stern stood storm strain sung sweet tale tell thee thou thought tongue tree turned Tushilaw Twas voice Wake warriors wave wild wind wonderous wood young youth
Page 173 - The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, The reek o' the cot hung over the plain,— Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane; When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, ' • Late, late in the gloamin...
Page 186 - To tell of the place where she had been, And the glories that lay in the land unseen ; To warn the living maidens fair, The loved of Heaven, the spirits' care, That all whose minds unmeled remain Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane.
Page 187 - Her seymar was the lily flower, And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower ; And her voice like the distant melodye, That floats along the twilight sea.
Page 175 - All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim ; And lovely beings round were rife, Who erst had travelled mortal life ; And aye they smiled, and 'gan to...
Page 178 - They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away. And she walked in the light of a sunless day: The sky was a dome of erystal bright. The fountain of vision, and fountain of light: The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, And the flowers of everlasting blow. Then deep in the stream her body they laid.
Page 186 - Kilmeny came hame ! And O, her beauty was fair to see, But still and steadfast was her ee ! Such beauty bard may never declare, For there was no pride nor passion there ; And the soft desire of maiden's een In that mild face could never be seen.
Page 146 - ... That the pine, which for ages had shed a bright halo, Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo, Should wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon, Smit through by the canker of hated Colquhoun : That a feast on Macgregors each day should be common. For years, to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond. A parting embrace, in one moment, she gave : Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave ! Then flitting elusive, she said, with a frown, " The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own !" — " Macgregor,...
Page 176 - O, blest be the day Kilmeny was born! Now shall the land of the spirits see, Now shall it ken what a woman may be!