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bank Battle of Flodden bear blow bonny borne brave breast bright brow bucket cheek cheer child close clouds cold count dark dash dear death deep dwell earth fair faith fall Father fears fell field Flodden flower give grave green hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour hundred John King knew Lady land leave light living look Lord man's Martin Mary meet morn Nature ne'er never night noble o'er old cap once peace plain pleasure poor prayer rest rock rose round scenes seen shore side sigh smile song sought soul speak spirits spoke steeds sweet tear thee thine thing thou thought tollman trees turn weep wife wind wish wood youth
Сторінка 64 - Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession ! But the record fair, That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Сторінка 11 - Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel...
Сторінка 63 - But gladly, as the precept were her own : And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she.
Сторінка 12 - How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew! The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell, The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well — The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.
Сторінка 63 - Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such?
Сторінка 41 - And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest...
Сторінка 24 - The border slogan rent the sky ! A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : Loud were the clanging blows ; Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high, The pennon sunk and rose ; As bends the bark's mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It wavered 'mid the foes.
Сторінка 64 - That humour interposed too often makes; All this still legible in memory's page, And still to be so to my latest age, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Such honours to thee as my numbers may; Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, Not scorn'd in Heaven, though little noticed here.
Сторінка 11 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.