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Old Ballads: Historical and Narrative, with Some of Modern Date, Том 2
Повний перегляд - 1810
Old Ballads: Historical and Narrative, with Some of Modern Date, Том 1
Повний перегляд - 1810
arms art thou baron bells be rung blood brave breast bridal bed bride bright castle cheer clad in pall cold cried Cumnor dead deck'd my bridal despair dost doth dread drear Edwy Fair Alice faithful faithless falchion fear feast eat merrily fight follow thee foot-page foul be thought grave green hall hast hath heard heart hermit holy holy land horn king lady fair look'd lord loud lov’d maiden Mault minstrels mourn ne'er never noble o'er Oh say Oh then bespake Olaus Wormius pale Palmer pilgrim boy pray Prince Henry queen Ralph Bishop red-cross knight rove shield sigh sigh'd sigh’d slain spake spear stay sweet sword tears tell thou shalt thrice thro Thurstan Tom Thumb tow'r tow’rs true love true-love turf unto valiant warder warrior ween weep wend winds wound youth
Сторінка 88 - The dews of summer night did fall, The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby.
Сторінка 90 - But, Leicester, (or I much am wrong,) Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows; Rather ambition's gilded crown Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. "Then, Leicester, why, again I plead, (The injured surely may repine,)— Why didst thou wed a country maid, When some fair princess might be thine? "Why didst thou praise my humble charms, And, oh! then leave them to decay? Why didst thou win me to thy arms, Then leave to mourn the livelong day?
Сторінка 247 - No chieftain of that noble house Now leads our youth to arms ; The bordering Scots despoil our fields, And ravage all our farms. Their halls and castles, once so fair, Now moulder in decay ; Proud strangers now usurp their lands, And bear their wealth away. Not far from hence, where yon full stream Runs winding down the lea, Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers, And overlooks the sea. Those towers, alas! now stand forlorn, With noisome weeds o'erspread, Where feasted lords and courtly dames, And...
Сторінка 347 - I'll never love thee more. As Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone ; My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.
Сторінка 242 - ARK was the night, and wild the storm, And loud the torrent's roar ; And loud the sea was heard to dash Against the distant shore. Musing on man's weak hapless state, The lonely hermit lay, When, lo ! he heard a female voice Lament in sore dismay.
Сторінка 46 - twas from a heart like stone. The blushing cheek speaks modest mind, The lips befitting words most kind, The eye does tempt to love's desire And seems to say " 'tis Cupid's fire ;" Yet all so fair but speak my moan, Sith nought doth say the heart of stone.
Сторінка 341 - And all she asked was quickly done : I always thought on her, but she Would ne'er bestow a thought on me. To let her cows my clover taste, Have I not rose by break of day? When did her heifers ever fast, If Robin in his yard had hay? Though to my fields they welcome were, I never welcome was to...
Сторінка 243 - It is not for myself I weep, Nor for myself I fear ; But for my dear and only friend, Who lately left me here : " And while some sheltering bower he sought Within this lonely wood, Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet Have slipt in yonder flood." " Oh ! trust in Heaven," the Hermit said, " And to my cell repair ! Doubt not but I shall find thy friend, And ease thee of thy care.
Сторінка 89 - No lark more blithe, no flower more gay; And like the bird that haunts the thorn, So merrily sung the livelong day. " If that my beauty is but small, Among court ladies all despised, Why didst thou rend it from that hall, Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized?
Сторінка 270 - These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear, He thank'd him for his tale ; And soon he hasted o'er the hills, And soon he reach'd the vale. Then drawing near those lonely towers, Which stood in dale so low, And sitting down beside the gate, His pipes he 'gan to blow. Sir Porter, is thy lord at home To hear a Minstrel's song ? Or...