St. Clyde, Bind 2

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Side 37 - Adieu, poor luckless maiden ! — Imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now pours into thy wounds ; — the Being who has twice bruised thee can only bind them up for ever.
Side 57 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Side 276 - Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, We, who improve his golden hours, By sweet experience know, That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradise below.
Side 93 - Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home! These are our realms, no limits to their sway Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Side 131 - Some of his skill he taught to me; And, Warrior, I could say to thee The words that cleft Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone.
Side 202 - Though he exceed in beauty far The rising lustre of a star ; Though light as cork thy fancy strays. Thy passions wild as angry seas, When vex'd with storms ; yet gladly I With thee would live, with thee would die.
Side 93 - O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free. Far as the breeze can bear the billow's foam, Survey our empire and behold our home.
Side 92 - The embattled portal-arch he passed, Whose ponderous gate and massy bar Had oft rolled back the tide of war, But never closed the iron door Against the desolate and poor. The duchess marked his weary pace, His timid mien and reverend face, And bade her page the menials tell That they should tend the old man well...
Side 76 - ... beauteous mourner woo'd Meek Quiet in her lonely feat, Where Competency watchful ftrew'd Her fober treafures at her feet. I'll not the little pathway tell That winds to thy fequefter'd fcene ; Where Virtue loves with thee to dwell, Remote — unfeeing and unfeen.

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