The Harp of Renfrewshire: A Collection of Songs and Other Poetical Pieces (many of which are Original) Accompanied with Notes, Explanatory, Critical, and Biographical, and a Short Essay on the Poets of RenfrewshireWilliam Motherwell |
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Page 30
... Twas something like divine , An honest friend's a precious gift , And such a gift was mine ; And now , whatever might betide , A happy man was I , In any strait I knew to whom I freely might apply . A strait soon came - my friend I try ...
... Twas something like divine , An honest friend's a precious gift , And such a gift was mine ; And now , whatever might betide , A happy man was I , In any strait I knew to whom I freely might apply . A strait soon came - my friend I try ...
Page 31
... Twas self and party after all , For all the stir they made . At last I saw the factious knaves Insult the very throne , I curs'd them a ' , and tun'd my pipe To John o ' Badenyon . What next to do , I mus'd awhile , Still hoping to ...
... Twas self and party after all , For all the stir they made . At last I saw the factious knaves Insult the very throne , I curs'd them a ' , and tun'd my pipe To John o ' Badenyon . What next to do , I mus'd awhile , Still hoping to ...
Page 32
... Twas pure as the brook that rippl'd along , Or the pearly drops of the morning dew . * This song refers to the unfortunate Mary Robinson , better known by the name of Mary of Buttermere . It sweetly smil'd in its native bower , But a 32.
... Twas pure as the brook that rippl'd along , Or the pearly drops of the morning dew . * This song refers to the unfortunate Mary Robinson , better known by the name of Mary of Buttermere . It sweetly smil'd in its native bower , But a 32.
Page 90
... Twas hard we twea sud part ! I's auld , and feal'd , and ragg'd , and peer , And cannot raise anither meer ; But cannot leeve anither year ! The loss will break my heart . LXI . NANCY . AIR . " The Legacy . " Now the ruddy sun is ...
... Twas hard we twea sud part ! I's auld , and feal'd , and ragg'd , and peer , And cannot raise anither meer ; But cannot leeve anither year ! The loss will break my heart . LXI . NANCY . AIR . " The Legacy . " Now the ruddy sun is ...
Page 166
... . Stephens , ( meaning George Stevens , Esq .; ) but with what propriety may be doubted . Ritson , in his Collection of English Songs , ascribes it to Mr Gilbert Cooper . CVIII . " TWAS IN A LONELY COTTAGE DWELLING . 166.
... . Stephens , ( meaning George Stevens , Esq .; ) but with what propriety may be doubted . Ritson , in his Collection of English Songs , ascribes it to Mr Gilbert Cooper . CVIII . " TWAS IN A LONELY COTTAGE DWELLING . 166.
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The Harp of Renfrewshire: A Collection of Songs and Other Poetical Pieces ... William Motherwell No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
Arthurlie Bard beauty blaw bloom blythe bonny lassie bonny Peggy bosom bower braes brave breast breath bright Caledonia street cauld charms cheek dear death delight e'en e'er Ellen fair father flower frae Francis Sempill gane genius Glasgow glow Greenock gude hame happy heart heaven ilka James Jean Adam John John Sim Kilbarchan lady lass lo'e Lochwinnoch lov'd lover maid Mary maun morning mourn nae mair native ne'er never night o'er Paisley peace pleasure poem poet poetical poor quhat R. A. Smith Renfrewshire Robert Sempill Robert Tannahill rose round Scotish Scotland Sempill sigh sing sleep smile song sorrow soul street sung sweet sweetly Tannahill tear thee There's thine thou tree Twas wander warl wave weary weel weep wild Willy winds wyllowe yon burn side youth
Popular passages
Page 283 - When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
Page 336 - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.
Page 385 - Row, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!
Page 417 - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,— In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs,— All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love.
Page 269 - Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille.
Page 415 - The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love.
Page 283 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, —...
Page 416 - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither — soon forgotten...
Page 4 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Page 273 - THE YOUNG MAY MOON. THE young May moon is beaming, love, The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, How sweet to rove Through Morna's grove,* When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.