Poems of Places: Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, Norway, and SwedenHenry Wadsworth Longfellow J.R. Osgood and Company, 1876 - English poetry |
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Page 2
... head by Teviot stone , Though there , forgotten and alone , The bard may draw his parting groan . Sir Walter Scott . THE GATHERING OF THE MACGREGORS . HE moon's on the lake , and the mist's on the brae , And the Clan has a name that is ...
... head by Teviot stone , Though there , forgotten and alone , The bard may draw his parting groan . Sir Walter Scott . THE GATHERING OF THE MACGREGORS . HE moon's on the lake , and the mist's on the brae , And the Clan has a name that is ...
Page 9
... head No foreign foe shall sever . Thy honored age in peace to save , The sternest host we'll dauntless brave , Or stem the fiercest Indian wave , 66 Nor heart nor hand shall waver . Though nations join yon tyrant's arm , While Scotia's ...
... head No foreign foe shall sever . Thy honored age in peace to save , The sternest host we'll dauntless brave , Or stem the fiercest Indian wave , 66 Nor heart nor hand shall waver . Though nations join yon tyrant's arm , While Scotia's ...
Page 11
... bleak wind whistles round her head , Her helpless orphans cry for bread . Bereft of shelter , food , and friend , She views the shades of night descend , And , stretched beneath the inclement skies , Weeps o'er INTRODUCTORY . 11.
... bleak wind whistles round her head , Her helpless orphans cry for bread . Bereft of shelter , food , and friend , She views the shades of night descend , And , stretched beneath the inclement skies , Weeps o'er INTRODUCTORY . 11.
Page 16
... head and heart ? - So good and great , benevolent as wise , On his high throne How meekly hath he borne his faculties ! How finely shown A model to the irritable race , Of generous kindness , courtesy , and grace ! Horace Smith . THE ...
... head and heart ? - So good and great , benevolent as wise , On his high throne How meekly hath he borne his faculties ! How finely shown A model to the irritable race , Of generous kindness , courtesy , and grace ! Horace Smith . THE ...
Page 21
... head , 66 And a look of pity ; ' Ury's honest lord reviled , Mock of knave and sport of child , In his own good city ! " Speak the word , and , master mine , As we charged on Tilly's line , And his Walloon lancers , Smiting through ...
... head , 66 And a look of pity ; ' Ury's honest lord reviled , Mock of knave and sport of child , In his own good city ! " Speak the word , and , master mine , As we charged on Tilly's line , And his Walloon lancers , Smiting through ...
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Common terms and phrases
amang Auchtertool auld Ballochmyle banks of Ayr Ben Lomond beneath Bennachie birds birks birks of Aberfeldy Blaavin blaw blithe bloom blue bonnie Doon bonnie lass bosom bower Branksome Hall brave breast BRIG bright Carmyle Castle Castle-Gordon clouds Clyde Coquet Water corri crag Craig Elachie Craigcrook Craigie Hill Craigie Lea dark David Macbeth Moir dear deep dewy dream fair Farewell flowers foam frae Gadie rins gleaming glen gloom gray green ha'e hath heart heaven Highland hundred pipers lassie lo'ed Lomond lone loud Mary mony morn mountain mourn mournfully ne'er night o'er proud River roar Robert Burns Robert Tannahill rock round sang scene shade shore sing Sir Walter Scott smile solitude of Binnorie Stand fast stray stream summer sweet thee thine torrents towers tree vale wander wave weary wild William Wordsworth wind wood of Craigie
Popular passages
Page 1 - BREATHES there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well...
Page 56 - Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast...
Page 168 - Lo !. the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast, Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements...
Page 73 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw...
Page 55 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi...
Page 170 - Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame.
Page 197 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in 't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
Page 25 - Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Page 183 - YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o
Page 39 - Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the keystane of the brig; There, at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross! But ere the keystane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake; For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle!