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Allen-a-Dale arms beautiful Bell beneath beside birds blessing blythe Bonnie breath bright charms cheer cried dark dead dear dream EDWIN face fair fall father Flow flowers friar friends gentle grave GRAY green hall hand happy head hear heard heart heaven Hermit hill holy Hope I'll Inchcape King lady land lass leave light live lonely look look'd Lord loud meet MILE morn mother never night o'er poor pride Queen quoth remember rest Robin Rock round seen shade side sigh sing sleep smiled sorrow sound spring storm summer sweet swelling tears tell thee There's thou thought town trees true turn Twas vale village voice waves weep wild wind wish wonnot wood wooing o't Yarrow young
Page 104 - When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, ' Had blended with the lights of eve ; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve...
Page 61 - In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. ' Stay — stay with us ! — rest ! — thou art weary and worn...
Page 26 - It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay ; Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace, And the tall Pinta till the noon had held her close in chase.
Page 108 - THREE fishers went sailing away to the West, Away to the West as the sun went down; Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And there's, little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbor bar be moaning.
Page 104 - Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown, It must, or we shall rue it, We have a vision of our own, Ah! why should we undo it?
Page 104 - And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leaned against the armed man, The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve.