The Harp of Renfrewshire:: A Collection of Songs and Other Poetical Pieces (many of which are Original), Accompanied with Notes, Explanatory, Critical, and Biographical, and a Short Essay on the Poets of RenfrewshireWilliam Motherwell Alex. Gardner., 1872 - 454 sider |
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Side vi
... song , like a good story , may be twice told , without deterioration in any degree from its interestingness and intrinsic merit . As a rose loses nothing of its bloom , complexion and fragrance , though enjoyed by our senses every day ...
... song , like a good story , may be twice told , without deterioration in any degree from its interestingness and intrinsic merit . As a rose loses nothing of its bloom , complexion and fragrance , though enjoyed by our senses every day ...
Side vii
... Song . In justice to those who have written for the work , and to such as have assisted them in the arrangement of materials and other compilatory parts , the Editors now beg , once for all , to acknowledge this assistance in a public ...
... Song . In justice to those who have written for the work , and to such as have assisted them in the arrangement of materials and other compilatory parts , the Editors now beg , once for all , to acknowledge this assistance in a public ...
Side xv
A Collection of Songs and Other Poetical Pieces (many of which are Original), Accompanied with Notes, Explanatory ... song , but the worst in the world for a long poem . The allegory is weak and wire - drawn ; and the whole piece be ...
A Collection of Songs and Other Poetical Pieces (many of which are Original), Accompanied with Notes, Explanatory ... song , but the worst in the world for a long poem . The allegory is weak and wire - drawn ; and the whole piece be ...
Side xxi
... song of Tweedside , is supposed , by Walter Scott , to have been Mary Lilias Scott , of the Harden family , oft - times , on account of her loveliness , styled The Flower o ' Yarrow . Besides those songs alluded to above , Daintie Davie ...
... song of Tweedside , is supposed , by Walter Scott , to have been Mary Lilias Scott , of the Harden family , oft - times , on account of her loveliness , styled The Flower o ' Yarrow . Besides those songs alluded to above , Daintie Davie ...
Side xxii
... song ; -her never hav- ing attempted to write anything else in the Scotish language , — and the age of the song itself , which , according to Burns , first be- gan to be hawked through the streets in 1771 or 1772 , which places it out ...
... song ; -her never hav- ing attempted to write anything else in the Scotish language , — and the age of the song itself , which , according to Burns , first be- gan to be hawked through the streets in 1771 or 1772 , which places it out ...
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Arthurlie Bard beauty blaw bloom blythe bonny lassie bonny Peggy bosom bower brae breast breath bright Buttermere Camoens cauld charms cheek dear death delight Dunblane e'en e'er Ellen fair father fled flower frae Francis Sempill gane genius glow gude hame happy heart heaven hidder hope ilka Jean Adam Jessie John John Sim lady lass life's lo'e lov'd maid Mary maun morning nae mair native ne'er never night o'er pleasure poem poet poetical poor R. A. Smith Renfrewshire Robert Sempill Robert Tannahill rose round scene Scotish Scotland Sempill sigh sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sung sweet sweetly Tannahill tear thair thee there's thine Thomas Moore thou Tralee tree Twas wander warl wave weary weel weep wild Willy winds wyllowe yon burn side young Jessie youth
Populære passager
Side 324 - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.
Side lxxvii - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...
Side 271 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, —...
Side 372 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Side 382 - A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten ; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps, and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.
Side lxxvi - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Side 380 - With coral clasps and amber studs ; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.
Side lxxv - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast...
Side 256 - Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. . In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing; Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more ; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Side 380 - Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies...