Poems of Places Oceana 1 V.; England 4; Scotland 3 V: Iceland, Switzerland, Greece, Russia, Asia, 3 America 5, Volume 6 |
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Page 24
... rising , weets wi ' misty showers The birks of Aberfeldy . Let Fortune's gifts at random flee , They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me , Supremely blest wi ' love and thee , In the birks of Aberfeldy . Robert Burns . Afton Water . FLOW ...
... rising , weets wi ' misty showers The birks of Aberfeldy . Let Fortune's gifts at random flee , They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me , Supremely blest wi ' love and thee , In the birks of Aberfeldy . Robert Burns . Afton Water . FLOW ...
Page 27
... rise , Wind - wrestling Goatfell and his rugged choir ; Argyll's tall ridges cleave the soaring skies ; Beyond the misty north the mighty Lomond lies . * * * * * John Nichol . Airly . AIRLY BEACON . IRLY BEACON , Airly Beacon AILSA CRAG ...
... rise , Wind - wrestling Goatfell and his rugged choir ; Argyll's tall ridges cleave the soaring skies ; Beyond the misty north the mighty Lomond lies . * * * * * John Nichol . Airly . AIRLY BEACON . IRLY BEACON , Airly Beacon AILSA CRAG ...
Page 42
... rise , fall , Then drop as white as virgin's pall . And sometimes , when that shroud uplifts , The far green fields show strange and fair ; Mute waterfalls in silver rifts Sparkle adown the hillside bare . But ah ! mists gather more and ...
... rise , fall , Then drop as white as virgin's pall . And sometimes , when that shroud uplifts , The far green fields show strange and fair ; Mute waterfalls in silver rifts Sparkle adown the hillside bare . But ah ! mists gather more and ...
Page 58
... rising piers : Our warlock Rhymer instantly descried The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside . ( That bards are second - sighted is nae joke , And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; Fays , Spunkies , Kelpies , a ' , they can ...
... rising piers : Our warlock Rhymer instantly descried The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside . ( That bards are second - sighted is nae joke , And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; Fays , Spunkies , Kelpies , a ' , they can ...
Page 60
... rise ! And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies : A lesson sadly teaching , to your cost , That Architecture's noble art is lost ! NEW BRIG . Fine Architecture , trowth , I needs must say't o't ! The L - d be thankit that we've ...
... rise ! And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies : A lesson sadly teaching , to your cost , That Architecture's noble art is lost ! NEW BRIG . Fine Architecture , trowth , I needs must say't o't ! The L - d be thankit that we've ...
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Poems of Places Oceana 1 V. ; England 4; Scotland 3 V: Iceland ..., Volume 9 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
Airly Beacon amang Auchtertool auld Ballochmyle banks of Ayr Ben Lomond beneath Bennachie birds birks birks of Aberfeldy Blaavin blithe bloom blue bonnie Doon bonnie lass bonny wood bosom bower braes Branksome Hall brave breast BRIG bright Carmyle Castle Charlie clouds Clyde Coquet Water corri Craig Elachie Craigcrook Craigcrook Roses Craigie Lea Cutty-sark dark David Macbeth Moir dear deep Doon dream fair Farewell flowers frae Gadie rins gleaming glen gray green ha'e heart heaven Highland land lassie Lochiel Lomond lone loud Mary mony morn mountain mourn mournfully ne'er night o'er pale proud River roar Robert Burns Robert Tannahill rock round sang scene shade shore sing Sir Walter Scott smile Stand fast stood stray stream summer sweet sword thee thine Thou bonny torrents towers tree vale wander wave weary Whare wild William Wordsworth wind wood of Craigie
Popular passages
Page 187 - She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Page 45 - 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' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Page 46 - 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 iii - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well : For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung.
Page ix - Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war- array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.
Page 155 - Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
Page x - MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Page 25 - SHANTER: A TALE Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this buke. — GAWIN DOUGLAS. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An...
Page 30 - Tam wi' furious ettle ; But little wist she Maggie's mettle — Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail : The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o...
Page iii - 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...