Abbotsford Series of the Scottish Poets,

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George Eyre-Todd
W. Hodge & Company, 1896

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Сторінка 121 - WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain : ' Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, Britons never will be slaves.
Сторінка 122 - Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame, But work their woe, and thy renown.
Сторінка 120 - That face, alas! no more is fair; Those lips no longer red: Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, And every charm is fled. 'The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. 'But hark! — the cock has warned me hence; A long and late adieu! Come, see, false man, how low she lies, Who died for love of you.
Сторінка 115 - A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was: Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, For ever flushing round a summer sky...
Сторінка 129 - And lay him on the braes of Yarrow. "Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow: And weep around, in waeful wise, His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow.
Сторінка 159 - To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat, And leave your men in sic a strait, Sae early in the morning.
Сторінка 132 - Pale though thou art, yet best, yet best beloved ! Oh ! could my warmth to life restore thee, Ye'd lie all night between my breasts ! No youth lay ever there before thee. ' Pale, pale indeed ! O lovely, lovely youth ! Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter; And lie all night between my breasts ! No youth shall ever lie there after.' ' Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride ! Return, and dry thy useless sorrow ! Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs — He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow.
Сторінка 106 - Now, all amid the rigours of the year, In the wild depth of Winter, while without The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat, Between the groaning forest and the shore Beat by the boundless multitude of waves, A rural, shelter'd, solitary scene; Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join, To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit, And hold high converse with the mighty dead...
Сторінка 232 - s their estate ; To smile for joy than sigh for woe, To be content than to be great. " How far less blest am I than them ! Daily to pine and waste with care, Like the poor plant, that, from its stem Divided, feels the chilling air.
Сторінка 231 - I'm told, is beauty's throne, Where every lady's passing rare, That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun, Are not so glowing-, not so fair. " Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds Where roses and where lilies vie, To seek a primrose, whose pale shades Must sicken when those gauds are...

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