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 Renfrewshire |
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Results 6-10 of 35
Page 25
... billows ' rude motion , For heavy they roll o'er his bed of the ocean . “ Ah !
where is my child gone , long does she tarry . ” Fond mother , forbear , thou'rt not
heard by thy Mary , For sound is her sleep on the dark weedy pillowHer bed the
cold ...
... billows ' rude motion , For heavy they roll o'er his bed of the ocean . “ Ah !
where is my child gone , long does she tarry . ” Fond mother , forbear , thou'rt not
heard by thy Mary , For sound is her sleep on the dark weedy pillowHer bed the
cold ...
Page 37
On thy blue hills no bugle sound Is mingled with the torrent's roar , Unmark'd the
red deer sport aroundThou lead'st the chase no more . Thy gates are clos'd , thy
halls are still— Those halls where swell'd the choral strainThey hear the wild ...
On thy blue hills no bugle sound Is mingled with the torrent's roar , Unmark'd the
red deer sport aroundThou lead'st the chase no more . Thy gates are clos'd , thy
halls are still— Those halls where swell'd the choral strainThey hear the wild ...
Page 50
The watch - dog's voice that bays , whene'er A stranger seeks his master's cot ,
Sounds sweeter in Maisuna's ear , Than yonder trumpet's long - drawn note . The
rustic youth , unspoil'd by art , Son of my kindred , poor but free , Will ever to ...
The watch - dog's voice that bays , whene'er A stranger seeks his master's cot ,
Sounds sweeter in Maisuna's ear , Than yonder trumpet's long - drawn note . The
rustic youth , unspoil'd by art , Son of my kindred , poor but free , Will ever to ...
Page 60
The Warden from his tow'r looks round , And now he hears the slow waves
bringing , Each to the shore a silver sound , - The spirit of the Isle is singing In
depths which man hath never found . When she sits in the pomp of her ocean -
hed , With ...
The Warden from his tow'r looks round , And now he hears the slow waves
bringing , Each to the shore a silver sound , - The spirit of the Isle is singing In
depths which man hath never found . When she sits in the pomp of her ocean -
hed , With ...
Page 66
When the sound of flute or horn , bonny Peggy , 0 , On the gale of evening borne ,
bonny Peggy , O , We have heard in echoes die , While the wave that rippl'd by ,
Sung a soft and sweet reply , bonny Peggy , 0 . Then how happy would we rove ...
When the sound of flute or horn , bonny Peggy , 0 , On the gale of evening borne ,
bonny Peggy , O , We have heard in echoes die , While the wave that rippl'd by ,
Sung a soft and sweet reply , bonny Peggy , 0 . Then how happy would we rove ...
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Common terms and phrases
appear beauty bloom bonny bosom breast bright charm cheek cold dark dear death deep delight fair father fear feel flower frae give Glasgow grave hand happy head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour I'll James John kind known lady land lassie leave light live look maid mair Mary meet mind morning mountain native nature ne'er never night o'er once peace piece pleasure poem poet poor present published rest rose round scenes side sigh sing sleep smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit street sweet tear tell thee there's thine thou thought tree true Twas wander wave weary weep wild Willy winds written young 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.
Bibliographic information
| Title | 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 Renfrewshire |
| Editor | William Motherwell |
| Edition | reprint |
| Publisher | A. Gardner, 1872 |
| Original from | Harvard University |
| Digitized | 19 Nov 2007 |
| Length | 454 pages |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |