English Poetry, Volume 40 |
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Page 53
... dead lang ere midnight , Lady Margret lang ere day , ' And all true lovers that go thegither , May they have mair luck than they ! Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk , Lady Margret in Mary's quire ; Out o the lady's grave grew a ...
... dead lang ere midnight , Lady Margret lang ere day , ' And all true lovers that go thegither , May they have mair luck than they ! Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk , Lady Margret in Mary's quire ; Out o the lady's grave grew a ...
Page 61
... dead man's hand ? " " I got not it by sea , I got it by land , And I got it , madam , out of your own hand . " " O I'll cast off my gowns of brown , And beg wi you frae town to town . 66 " O I'll cast off my gowns of red , And I'll beg ...
... dead man's hand ? " " I got not it by sea , I got it by land , And I got it , madam , out of your own hand . " " O I'll cast off my gowns of brown , And beg wi you frae town to town . 66 " O I'll cast off my gowns of red , And I'll beg ...
Page 67
... dead ere it be day . " " Awa , awa , ye ill woman , 6 For here ye shanno win in ; Gae drown ye in the raging sea , Or hang on the gallows - pin . " When the cock had crawn , and day did dawn , And the sun began to peep , Then it raise ...
... dead ere it be day . " " Awa , awa , ye ill woman , 6 For here ye shanno win in ; Gae drown ye in the raging sea , Or hang on the gallows - pin . " When the cock had crawn , and day did dawn , And the sun began to peep , Then it raise ...
Page 68
" O wae betide ye , ill woman , 10 An ill dead 20 may ye die ! That ye woudno open the door to her , Nor yet woud waken me . " O he has gone down to yon shore - side , As fast as he could fare ; He saw Fair Annie in her boat , But the ...
" O wae betide ye , ill woman , 10 An ill dead 20 may ye die ! That ye woudno open the door to her , Nor yet woud waken me . " O he has gone down to yon shore - side , As fast as he could fare ; He saw Fair Annie in her boat , But the ...
Page 69
66 " O wae betide my cruel mother , And an ill dead may she die ! For she turnd my true - love frae my door , When she came sae far to me . " 20 BONNY BARBARA ALLAN Ir was in and about the Martinmas time , When the green leaves were a ...
66 " O wae betide my cruel mother , And an ill dead may she die ! For she turnd my true - love frae my door , When she came sae far to me . " 20 BONNY BARBARA ALLAN Ir was in and about the Martinmas time , When the green leaves were a ...
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Common terms and phrases
beauty birds bliss bonny breast breath bright coude Cuckoo dear death dost doth earth eccho ring Enone eyes fair fayre fear flowers frae gentle give gode grace grene hair happy hath heart heaven Heigh Hind Horn honour Hymen Inverey Johnn king Kinmont Willie knyght kynge lady lero light Litell little boy live livës joy Lord love's lovers lullaby lyke Lytell Johan merry mind moche mordre ne'er never night nonny o'er passion pleasure praise pride proud Robyn Hode sayd Robyn shal shalt shine sigh sing sleep song song of praise SONNET soul spring sweet Tell tereu thee ther theyr thine thing thou art thou hast thought thro tree trewely twa sisters unto virtue waly waly wawking whan wind wode wolde woods wyll youth
Popular passages
Page 292 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Page 425 - Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen: Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Page 264 - When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Cuckoo ; Cuckoo, cuckoo...
Page 261 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...
Page 450 - But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Kich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. " Full many a gem of purest ray serene. The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Page 300 - QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st...
Page 452 - For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour"d dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led. Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate,— Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Page 275 - Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill : Tired with all these,...
Page 453 - A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Page 399 - Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, While organs yet were mute, Timotheus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.