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Página 203 - Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily: Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other ? Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! Oh, it was pitiful!
Página 34 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn : He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day ; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away.
Página 180 - had always, for me, an inexpressible charm : — O saw ye not fair Ines ? She's gone into the West, To dazzle when the sun is down, And rob the world of rest...
Página 35 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The...
Página 26 - All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime; With one besetting horrid hint That racked me all the time — A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime — "One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave! Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave — Still urging me to go and see The dead man in his grave!
Página 23 - And, long since then, of bloody men Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves ; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves ; And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod...
Página 210 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, — Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! She sang this " Song of the Shirt !
Página 130 - O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted!
Página 211 - Work, work, work, In the dull December light, And work, work, work, When the weather Is warm and bright, While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit me with the spring.
Página 60 - Tam had got planted unco right; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi...

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