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 6
... sorrow of the troops , as displayed even in the very act of consignment , " Slowly and sadly they laid him down . " He adverts , in a highly descriptive strain , to the martial state in which the hero was buried , " From the field of ...
... sorrow of the troops , as displayed even in the very act of consignment , " Slowly and sadly they laid him down . " He adverts , in a highly descriptive strain , to the martial state in which the hero was buried , " From the field of ...
Side 7
... sorrow Is doomed to all who love or live ; And if , when conscious on the morrow , We scarce our fancy can forgive , That cheated us in slumber only , To leave the waking soul more lonely . What must they feel whom no false vision , But ...
... sorrow Is doomed to all who love or live ; And if , when conscious on the morrow , We scarce our fancy can forgive , That cheated us in slumber only , To leave the waking soul more lonely . What must they feel whom no false vision , But ...
Side 33
... sorrow's tear , To wither amid the shades of night . Hope fled from the cheek of roseate hue , And the lily pale now languish'd there , And dim look'd the eye , of heavenly blue , Of the lovely Mary of Buttermere . For there was a charm ...
... sorrow's tear , To wither amid the shades of night . Hope fled from the cheek of roseate hue , And the lily pale now languish'd there , And dim look'd the eye , of heavenly blue , Of the lovely Mary of Buttermere . For there was a charm ...
Side 38
... , And faint the twilight shone . Monimia's cheek grew deadly pale , Dew'd with the tear of sorrow , While oft she press'd her lover's grave , Nor wak'd with dawn of morrow . XXVI . AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE DOAT . 38.
... , And faint the twilight shone . Monimia's cheek grew deadly pale , Dew'd with the tear of sorrow , While oft she press'd her lover's grave , Nor wak'd with dawn of morrow . XXVI . AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE DOAT . 38.
Side 46
... sorrow tak him that's sae mean , Altho ' his pouch o ' coin were clean , Wha follows ony saucy quean That looks sae proud and high . O Tibby , I hae , & c . Altho ' a lad were e'er sae smart , If that he want the yellow dirt , Ye'll ...
... sorrow tak him that's sae mean , Altho ' his pouch o ' coin were clean , Wha follows ony saucy quean That looks sae proud and high . O Tibby , I hae , & c . Altho ' a lad were e'er sae smart , If that he want the yellow dirt , Ye'll ...
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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...