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Page 237 - Then Red Rowan has hente him up, The starkest man in Teviotdale — "Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell. " Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope ! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell," he cried — " I'll pay you for my lodging maill,a When first we meet on the Border side.
Page 137 - These are spots in your feasts of charity, when they feast with you, feeding themselves without fear: clouds they are without water, carried about of winds; trees whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead, plucked up by the roots; Raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever.
Page 99 - Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder.
Page 215 - Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms Burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me ! 0 think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spak' nae mair ! There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirconnell lea.
Page 237 - And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, And safely swam them thro' the stream. He turned him on the other side, And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he — ' If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me...
Page 168 - I am the eye with which the Universe Beholds itself and knows itself divine; All harmony of instrument or verse, All prophecy, all medicine are mine, All light of art or nature; — to my song, Victory and praise in their own right belong.
Page 218 - A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, Than my true love he built for me. There came a man, by middle day, He spied his sport, and went away ; And brought the king that very night, Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. He slew my knight, to me sae dear ; He slew my knight, and...
Page 140 - If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky.
Page 215 - I'll make a garland of thy hair, Shall bind my heart for evermair, Until the day I die. O that I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, 'Haste and come to me!