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 |
Fra bogen
Resultater 1-5 af 78
Side xxxvi
... thou wreck me , Brooding o'er joys that for ever are flown ! Cruel remembrance in pity forsake me , Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown ! ' " The music published with this song was originally composed for other words , but ...
... thou wreck me , Brooding o'er joys that for ever are flown ! Cruel remembrance in pity forsake me , Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown ! ' " The music published with this song was originally composed for other words , but ...
Side xxxvii
... thou sweet mavis , thy hymn to the e'ening . ' " When I had composed the music , Jessie was introduced to the world with this clog hanging at her foot , much against my inclination and advice ; however , I feel confident that every ...
... thou sweet mavis , thy hymn to the e'ening . ' " When I had composed the music , Jessie was introduced to the world with this clog hanging at her foot , much against my inclination and advice ; however , I feel confident that every ...
Side lvii
... thou mak thy Zodiac , that I may tak My plesour to behald quhome I love best . Thy presens me restoris to lyfe from deth , Thy absens lykways schoris to cut my breth . I wiss in vain , thee to remain . Sen primum mobile says me always ...
... thou mak thy Zodiac , that I may tak My plesour to behald quhome I love best . Thy presens me restoris to lyfe from deth , Thy absens lykways schoris to cut my breth . I wiss in vain , thee to remain . Sen primum mobile says me always ...
Side lviii
... Priest that Latin then did speak , For holy words were then all Hebrew and Greek . She never was at Rome , nor kiss'd Pope's toe : How came she by the mass , then I would know ? Priest . Pack - man , if thou believe the LVIII .
... Priest that Latin then did speak , For holy words were then all Hebrew and Greek . She never was at Rome , nor kiss'd Pope's toe : How came she by the mass , then I would know ? Priest . Pack - man , if thou believe the LVIII .
Side lix
... thou believe the Legendary , The mass is elder far than Christ or Mary : For all the Patriarchs , both more and less , And great Melchisedeck himself said mass . Pack - man . But , good Sir John , spake all these fathers Latin ? And ...
... thou believe the Legendary , The mass is elder far than Christ or Mary : For all the Patriarchs , both more and less , And great Melchisedeck himself said mass . Pack - man . But , good Sir John , spake all these fathers Latin ? And ...
Andre udgaver - Se alle
Almindelige termer og sætninger
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...