Poems of Places: Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, Norway, and SwedenHenry Wadsworth Longfellow J.R. Osgood and Company, 1876 - English poetry |
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Page 13
... light - winged swallow pursuing His mate with a joyous cry , To the cuckoo's voice and the cooing Of doves in the pine - tops high , And the throstle's song in the thicket , and the lark's from the morning sky ! Under the summer arbor ...
... light - winged swallow pursuing His mate with a joyous cry , To the cuckoo's voice and the cooing Of doves in the pine - tops high , And the throstle's song in the thicket , and the lark's from the morning sky ! Under the summer arbor ...
Page 17
... light . To beds of state go , balmy sleep ( ' T is where you've seldom been ) , May's vigil while the shepherds keep With Kate of Aberdeen . Upon the green the virgins wait , In rosy chaplets gay , Till morn unbars her golden gate , And ...
... light . To beds of state go , balmy sleep ( ' T is where you've seldom been ) , May's vigil while the shepherds keep With Kate of Aberdeen . Upon the green the virgins wait , In rosy chaplets gay , Till morn unbars her golden gate , And ...
Page 22
... night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking ; Knowing God's own time is best , In a patient hope I rest For the full day - breaking ! " So the Laird of Ury said , Turning slow his 22 POEMS OF PLACES .
... night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking ; Knowing God's own time is best , In a patient hope I rest For the full day - breaking ! " So the Laird of Ury said , Turning slow his 22 POEMS OF PLACES .
Page 25
... ocean , ocean to defy , SIN Appeared the Crag of Ailsa , ne'er did morn With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn His sides , or wreathe with mist his forehead high : Now , faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse , Still AILSA CRAG . 25.
... ocean , ocean to defy , SIN Appeared the Crag of Ailsa , ne'er did morn With gleaming lights more gracefully adorn His sides , or wreathe with mist his forehead high : Now , faintly darkening with the sun's eclipse , Still AILSA CRAG . 25.
Page 27
... light of eventide , The great sun slowly draws his shafts around , While gently heaves the breast of ocean wide ; The wavelets , murmuring with a mellow sound , From thy gray base in playful mood rebound ; The sea beneath thee gleams ...
... light of eventide , The great sun slowly draws his shafts around , While gently heaves the breast of ocean wide ; The wavelets , murmuring with a mellow sound , From thy gray base in playful mood rebound ; The sea beneath thee gleams ...
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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!