Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, Norway, and SwedenHoughton, Mifflin, 1876 - English poetry |
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Page 19
... begging carlin , late Fed and clothed at Ury's gate , Cursed him as he passed her . Yet , with calm and stately mien , Up the streets of Aberdeen , Came he slowly riding : And , to all he saw and heard , Answering ABERDEEN . 19 BARCLAY OF.
... begging carlin , late Fed and clothed at Ury's gate , Cursed him as he passed her . Yet , with calm and stately mien , Up the streets of Aberdeen , Came he slowly riding : And , to all he saw and heard , Answering ABERDEEN . 19 BARCLAY OF.
Page 22
... passed her door ; And the snooded daughter , Through her casement glancing down , Smiled on him who bore renown From red fields of slaughter . " Hard to feel the stranger's scoff , Hard the old friend's falling off , Hard to learn ...
... passed her door ; And the snooded daughter , Through her casement glancing down , Smiled on him who bore renown From red fields of slaughter . " Hard to feel the stranger's scoff , Hard the old friend's falling off , Hard to learn ...
Page 48
... passed away , Far from the braes of Auchinblae , And far from love and thee , Mary ! And we must part again , my dear , It is not mine to linger here ; Yes , we must part , and , O , I fear , We meet not here again , Mary ! -- For on ...
... passed away , Far from the braes of Auchinblae , And far from love and thee , Mary ! And we must part again , my dear , It is not mine to linger here ; Yes , we must part , and , O , I fear , We meet not here again , Mary ! -- For on ...
Page 63
... passing fair , so more than fond ! The Poet's place of birth beyond , Beyond the mellow bells of Ayr ! I hear the milkmaid's twilight song Come bravely through the storm - bent oaks ; Beyond , the white surf's sullen strokes Beat in a ...
... passing fair , so more than fond ! The Poet's place of birth beyond , Beyond the mellow bells of Ayr ! I hear the milkmaid's twilight song Come bravely through the storm - bent oaks ; Beyond , the white surf's sullen strokes Beat in a ...
Page 68
... passing by , Behold the lass o ' Ballochmyle ! Fair is the morn in flowery May , And sweet is night in autumn mild , When roving through the garden gay , Or wandering in the lonely wild : But woman , Nature's darling child ! There all ...
... passing by , Behold the lass o ' Ballochmyle ! Fair is the morn in flowery May , And sweet is night in autumn mild , When roving through the garden gay , Or wandering in the lonely wild : But woman , Nature's darling child ! There all ...
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Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
amang Arthur's Seat Auchtertool auld Ballochmyle banks of Ayr Ben Lomond beneath Bennachie bird Blaavin blaw blithe bloom blue bonnie lass bonny wood bosom bower braes Branksome Hall brave breast BRIG bright Carmyle Castle clouds Clyde Coquet Water corri Craig Elachie Craigcrook Craigcrook Roses Craigie Lea dark David Macbeth Moir dear deep dewy Doon dream fair Farewell flowers frae Gadie rins gleaming glen gray green ha'e hath heart heaven Highland hundred pipers lassie lo'ed Lomond lone Mary mony morn mountain mourn mournfully ne'er never night o'er proud River roar Robert Burns Robert Tannahill rock round sang scene Scotia's Scotland's shade shore sing Sir Walter Scott smile Stand fast stray stream summer sweet thee thine Thou bonny towers tree vale wander wave weary wild William Motherwell William Wordsworth wind wood of Craigie
Popular passages
Page 197 - She should have died hereafter ; There would have been a time for such a word. — To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time ; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Page 56 - Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? " That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love...
Page 197 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in 't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
Page 169 - Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight : Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! — 'Tis finished.
Page 167 - LOCHIEL, Lochiel ! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight. They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
Page 7 - The bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended, Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master.
Page 167 - Glenullin! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Page 168 - Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah, home let him speed, — for the spoiler is nigh ! Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel, the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements...
Page 183 - YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o
Page 39 - In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu