Poems of Places: Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, Norway, and SwedenHenry Wadsworth Longfellow J.R. Osgood and Company, 1876 - English poetry |
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Page 10
... mourn Thy banished peace , thy laurels torn ! Thy sons , for valor long renowned , Lie slaughtered on their native ground . Thy hospitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door ; In smoky ruins sunk they lie , The monuments of ...
... mourn Thy banished peace , thy laurels torn ! Thy sons , for valor long renowned , Lie slaughtered on their native ground . Thy hospitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door ; In smoky ruins sunk they lie , The monuments of ...
Page 12
... Mourn , hapless Caledonia , mourn Thy banished peace , thy laurels torn ! Tobias George Smollett . DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO ALBA . DEIRDRE , wife of Naise , the son of Usna , returning with her husband to Emania in Erin , laments for Alba ...
... Mourn , hapless Caledonia , mourn Thy banished peace , thy laurels torn ! Tobias George Smollett . DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO ALBA . DEIRDRE , wife of Naise , the son of Usna , returning with her husband to Emania in Erin , laments for Alba ...
Page 61
... mourns her ripening corn , By early Winter's ravage torn ; Across her placid , azure sky , She sees the scowling tempest fly ; Chill runs my blood to hear it rave , I AYR , THE RIVER . 61 BANKS OF BURNS AYRSHIRE Wingate W Wordsworth 233 ...
... mourns her ripening corn , By early Winter's ravage torn ; Across her placid , azure sky , She sees the scowling tempest fly ; Chill runs my blood to hear it rave , I AYR , THE RIVER . 61 BANKS OF BURNS AYRSHIRE Wingate W Wordsworth 233 ...
Page 97
... mourn The liberty they lost at Bannockburn . Once on those steeps I roamed at large , and have In mind the landscape , as if still in sight ; The river glides , the woods before me wave ; Then why repine that now in vain I crave ...
... mourn The liberty they lost at Bannockburn . Once on those steeps I roamed at large , and have In mind the landscape , as if still in sight ; The river glides , the woods before me wave ; Then why repine that now in vain I crave ...
Page 99
... mourn for him And curse Inveraye . " O , came ye by Brackley , And what saw ye there ? Was his young widow weeping And tearing her hair ? " " I came in by Brackley , I came in , and O , There was mirth , there was feasting , But nothing ...
... mourn for him And curse Inveraye . " O , came ye by Brackley , And what saw ye there ? Was his young widow weeping And tearing her hair ? " " I came in by Brackley , I came in , and O , There was mirth , there was feasting , But nothing ...
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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!