Scotia's Bards: The Choice Productions of the Scottish Poets, with Brief Biographical SketchesRobert Carter & Brothers, 1856 - 563 стор. |
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Сторінка 8
... sweet Philomela , charm The listening shades , and teach the night His praise . Ye chief , for whom the whole creation smiles , At once the head , the heart , the tongue of all , Crown the great hymn ; in swarming cities vast ...
... sweet Philomela , charm The listening shades , and teach the night His praise . Ye chief , for whom the whole creation smiles , At once the head , the heart , the tongue of all , Crown the great hymn ; in swarming cities vast ...
Сторінка 20
... Sweet - scented rucks round which we play'd , You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder . Again , ah ! shall I never creep Around the knowe wi ' silent duty , Kindly to watch thee while asleep , And wonder at thy manly beauty ? Hear ...
... Sweet - scented rucks round which we play'd , You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder . Again , ah ! shall I never creep Around the knowe wi ' silent duty , Kindly to watch thee while asleep , And wonder at thy manly beauty ? Hear ...
Сторінка 27
... Sweet murmuring ; methought , the shrill - tongued thrusn Mended his song of love ; the sooty blackbird Mellow'd his pipe , and soften'd every note ; The eglantine smell'd sweeter , and the rose Assumed a dye more deep ; whilst every ...
... Sweet murmuring ; methought , the shrill - tongued thrusn Mended his song of love ; the sooty blackbird Mellow'd his pipe , and soften'd every note ; The eglantine smell'd sweeter , and the rose Assumed a dye more deep ; whilst every ...
Сторінка 43
... , He stamp'd thee with his image , and , well pleased , Smiled on his last fair work . Then all was well : Sound was the body , and the soul serene ; Like two sweet instruments ne'er out of tune , That THE GRAVE . 43.
... , He stamp'd thee with his image , and , well pleased , Smiled on his last fair work . Then all was well : Sound was the body , and the soul serene ; Like two sweet instruments ne'er out of tune , That THE GRAVE . 43.
Сторінка 49
... unmindful now Of all the flowers that paint the further bank , And smiled so sweet of late . Thrice welcome death ! That , after many a painful bleeding step , 4 Conducts us to our home ; and lands us safe THE GRAVE . 49.
... unmindful now Of all the flowers that paint the further bank , And smiled so sweet of late . Thrice welcome death ! That , after many a painful bleeding step , 4 Conducts us to our home ; and lands us safe THE GRAVE . 49.
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ALEXANDER BETHUNE art thou bairns beams beauty beneath Blackwood's Magazine blessed bloom bonny bosom braes breast breath bright brow burn canna Casa Wappy cauld cheek cloud Colonsay dark dear death deep desert dreams e'er earth fair Fairy-Queen Farewell father Fingal flowers frae friends gentle grave green hame hand happy hast hath hear heart heaven hill ilka Jarl Jeanie land light lonely look Lord maid mair maun morning mother mountain mourn ne'er never night o'er Ossian pale peace poems poet poor proud rill ROBERT GILFILLAN ROBERT NICOLL ROBERT TANNAHILL round Roxburghshire Sabbath Scotland Scottish silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stream sweet tears thee thine thou thought Twas vale voice wandering wave weary weel weeping wild WILLIAM THOM wind youth
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Сторінка 147 - Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme : How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; How He who bore in heaven the second name Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : How his first followers and servants sped ; The precepts sage they wrote to many a land ; How he who, lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope "...
Сторінка 142 - The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise an
Сторінка 148 - And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide ; But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.
Сторінка 252 - When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, by the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, at the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, and thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Сторінка 5 - These, as they change, Almighty Father, these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles : And every sense and every heart is joy.
Сторінка 263 - A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind!
Сторінка 375 - An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? " Art thou a man — a patriot ? look around, O thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, That land thy country, and that spot thy home.
Сторінка 7 - Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave, to HIM; Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Сторінка 8 - There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, Or Winter rises in the blackening east ; Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat.
Сторінка 115 - What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear ; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year I Delightful visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers.