The Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry of Great Britain: Historical, Traditional and Romantic: to which are Added, a Selection of Modern Imitations and Some Translations

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Joseph S. Moore
H. Washbourne & Company, 1853 - 871 стор.

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Сторінка 693 - their rich attire; Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gusht from my heart, And I blessed them unaware : Sure my kind saint took pity on me. And I blessed them unaware.
Сторінка 697 - dungeon fitter; All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away; I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. And now this spell was snapt; once more The curse is finally
Сторінка 689 - And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root: We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah, well-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung. PART
Сторінка 591 - So, fair and softly, John he cried, But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein. So stooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright, He graspt the mane with both his hands, And eke with all
Сторінка 10 - Erle Percy took his way; The child may rue that is unborne The hunting of that day. The stout Erle of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summers days to take; The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chase To kill and beare away. These tydings to Erle Douglas came, In
Сторінка 698 - On every corse there stood! This seraph-band, each waved his hand; It was a heavenly sight; They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light; This seraph-band, each waved his hand No voice did they impart— No voice; but O! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But
Сторінка 10 - prevent his sport. The English erle, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort, With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of neede To ayme their shafts aright. The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran To chase the fallow deere: On Munday they began to hunt
Сторінка 295 - is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar,' he makes Moth say,' The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since;' while, from the next part of his answer, ' but, I think, now 'tis not to be found,
Сторінка 593 - Each comely in its kind. Thus showed his ready wit, My head is twice as big as yours, He held them up, and in his turn They therefore needs must fit. That hangs upon your face; And stop and eat, for well you may But let me scrape the dirt away Be in a hungry case.
Сторінка 690 - With throat unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call; Gramercy! they for joy did grin, A flash of joy. And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. See! see! I cried, she tacks no more And horror

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