Black's Picturesque Tourist of Scotland

Forsideomslag
A. and C. Black, 1852 - 543 sider
 

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Side 104 - 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.
Side 102 - The moon on the east oriel shone, Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined ; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand, 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow-wreaths to stone.
Side 303 - Where, as to shame the temples deck'd By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise A minster to her Maker's praise! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend ; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tone prolong'd and high, That mocks the organ's melody.
Side 325 - THOU lingering star, with lessening ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
Side 140 - Many hearts deplored The fate of those old trees ; and oft with pain The traveller at this day will stop and gaze On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed : For shelter'd places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, And the green silent pastures, yet remain.
Side 126 - There's nothing left to fancy's guess, You see that all is loneliness : And silence aids — though the steep hills Send to the lake a thousand rills ; In summer tide, so soft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, So stilly is the solitude.
Side 305 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Side 126 - Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink ; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land. Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hill's huge outline you may view...
Side 104 - 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 197 - Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances ! Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine ! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line...

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