The Highlanders: A Poem by the Rev. L. Booker

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I. West Stourbridge, 1787 - 28 páginas
 

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Página 2 - Ah ! little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death And all the fad variety of pain. How many fink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, By fhameful variance betwixt Man and Man.
Página 17 - ... being left upon the open heaths, seek to shelter themselves from the inclemency of the weather amongst the hollows upon the lee-side of the mountains, and here they are frequently buried under the snow for several weeks together, and in severe seasons during two months or upwards. They eat their own and each other's wool, and hold out wonderfully under cold and hunger ; but even in moderate winters, a considerable number are generally found dead after the snow hath disappeared, and in rigorous...
Página 6 - But ill attir'd from cold and lawlefs gaze : Another, lodg'd unfeemly at her back, Mingles its plaintive forrows with the wind : While two, copartners of a priftine birth, (Prefling with blood-ftain'd feet the pointed...
Página 9 - Unconicious where to find to-morrow's fare. Thus hies the bird (whofe mate, by bafe decoy, Is fever'd from her love) at duflcy eve, To feed her callow brood, and wafte in grief The live-long night, nor wilh return of morn.

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