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Сторінка 274 - I hear a voice, you cannot hear, Which says, I must not stay; I see a hand, you cannot see, Which beckons me away.
Сторінка 127 - Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan." And slowly, slowly raise she up, And slowly, slowly left him, And sighing said, she could not stay, Since death of life had reft him. She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell geid, It cry'd, "Woe to Barbara Allan!
Сторінка 179 - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Сторінка 205 - Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves ; Under floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey ; Over rocks that are steepest Love will find out the way. Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie ; Where there is no space For receipt of a fly ; Where the midge dares not venture Lest herself fast she lay ; If love come, he will enter And soon find out his way.
Сторінка 93 - At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; Loses them too ; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin : All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love ! has she done this to thee ? What shall, alas ! become of me...
Сторінка 186 - Or Ciss to milking rose, Then merrily went their tabor, And nimbly went their toes. Witness those rings and roundelays Of theirs which yet remain, Were footed in Queen Mary's days On many a grassy plain. But since...
Сторінка 210 - Lord Thomas was buried without kirkwa, Fair Annet within the quiere, And o the tane thair grew a birk, The other a bonny briere. And ay they grew, and ay they threw, As they wad faine be neare; And by this ye may ken right weil They were twa luvers deare.
Сторінка 171 - SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be?
Сторінка 184 - On tops of dewy grass So nimbly do we pass, The young and tender stalk Ne'er bends when we do walk ; Yet in the morning may be seen Where we the night before have been.