Beauties of the Scottish poets, or Harp of Renfrewshire, a collection of songs and other poetical pieces, with notes, and a short essay on the poets of Renfrewshire [by W. Motherwell. Re-issue of the harp of Renfrewshire, with cancel title-leaf].1821 |
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Página lxxi
... Tell them ye are frae Scotland come , For Scotia's relief ; Tell them ye are the vera best Wal'd frae the fattest flock , Then raise your arms , and O ! display A hinging toom meal pock . And sing , Oh waes me ! Tell them ye're wearied ...
... Tell them ye are frae Scotland come , For Scotia's relief ; Tell them ye are the vera best Wal'd frae the fattest flock , Then raise your arms , and O ! display A hinging toom meal pock . And sing , Oh waes me ! Tell them ye're wearied ...
Página 26
... tell . Soon a British fair will charm thee , Thou her smiles wilt fondly woo ; But though she to rapture warm thee , Don't forget thy POOR HINDOO . * The following circumstance , we understand , gave occasion to this singularly ...
... tell . Soon a British fair will charm thee , Thou her smiles wilt fondly woo ; But though she to rapture warm thee , Don't forget thy POOR HINDOO . * The following circumstance , we understand , gave occasion to this singularly ...
Página 62
... Nor one memorial for a breast , Whose thoughts are all thine own . Nor need I write - to tell the tale , My pen were doubly weak : Oh ! what can idle words avail , Unless the heart could speak . By day or night , in weal or woe , 62.
... Nor one memorial for a breast , Whose thoughts are all thine own . Nor need I write - to tell the tale , My pen were doubly weak : Oh ! what can idle words avail , Unless the heart could speak . By day or night , in weal or woe , 62.
Página 65
... tell me of glories , serenely adorning The close of our day , the calm of our night ; - Give me back , give me back the mild freshness of morning , Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light . O who would not welcome that ...
... tell me of glories , serenely adorning The close of our day , the calm of our night ; - Give me back , give me back the mild freshness of morning , Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light . O who would not welcome that ...
Página 68
... tell thee that I lo'e thee . O dinna think , my pretty pink , But I can live without thee ; I vow and swear I dinna care How lang ye look about ye . Thou'rt aye sae free informing , Thou hast nae mind to marry , I'll be as free ...
... tell thee that I lo'e thee . O dinna think , my pretty pink , But I can live without thee ; I vow and swear I dinna care How lang ye look about ye . Thou'rt aye sae free informing , Thou hast nae mind to marry , I'll be as free ...
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Beauties of the Scottish Poets, Or Harp of Renfrewshire, a Collection of ... Scottish Poets,Renfrew County Prévia não disponível - 2016 |
Termos e frases comuns
Alderney Arthurlie Bard beauty birken blaw bloom Blythely bonny lassie bonny Peggy bosom bower braes breast breath bright Buttermere cauld charms cheek dear death delight e'en e'er Ellen fair father flower frae Francis Sempill gane genius glow gude hame happy heart heaven ilka Jean Adam John Sim Johnny Katy lady lass little sweep lo'e lov'd lover maid Mary maun morning mourn nae mair native ne'er never night o'er owre Paisley peace pleasure poem poet poetical poor quhat R. A. Smith Renfrewshire Robert Sempill Robert Tannahill rose round Scotish Scotland Sempill sigh sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sung sweet sweetly Tannahill tear thair thee There's thine thou thro tree Twas wander warl wave weary weel weep wild Willy wind wyllowe yon burn side youth
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 336 - 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.
Página 4 - 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.
Página 283 - 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, —...
Página 138 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
Página 414 - With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.
Página 384 - 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.
Página 273 - THE YOUNG MAY MOON. THE young May moon is beaming, love, The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, How sweet to rove Through Morna's grove,* When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.
Página 416 - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: 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...
Página 3 - 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.
Página 5 - 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...