Poems of Places, Bind 2

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J. R. Osgood, 1876
 

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Side 141 - I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking ; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still, as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men — Their trampling sounded nearer. 'O haste thee, haste !' the lady cries, 'Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.
Side 51 - That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't ? Live you ? or are you aught That man may question ? You seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips. — You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so.
Side 181 - If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory...
Side 106 - O that I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries ; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says,
Side 51 - Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? — I...
Side 59 - His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen ' — But aye she loot the tears down fa
Side 66 - On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the rock was hid by the surge's swell, The mariners heard the warning bell; And then they knew the perilous rock And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
Side 83 - Merrily, merrily goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea. The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, And Ulva dark and Colonsay, And all the group of islets gay That guard famed Staffa round.
Side 73 - This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle. Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate.
Side 182 - When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower ; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave; Then go — but go alone the while — Then view St David's ruined pile ; And, home returning, soothly swear, Was never scene so sad and fair ! II.

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