The Caledonian Muse: A Chronological Selection of Scottish Poetry from the Earliest Times

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Joseph Ritson
Printed 1785, and now first pub. by R. Triphook, 1821 - English poetry - 232 pages
 

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Page 142 - Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of animals, Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones? The very turf on which we tread once liv'd ; And we that live must lend our carcasses To cover our own offspring : in their turns They too must cover theirs.
Page 144 - Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, Cheerless, unsocial plant ; that loves to dwell 'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms: Where light-heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades, Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree, is thine.
Page 104 - But, Sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to Such as thou know'st do not know what they do.
Page 157 - Now, Spring returns ; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Page 158 - Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.
Page 155 - Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs : Dead men have come again, and walk'd about ; And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd. (Such tales their cheer at wake or gossiping, When it draws near to witching time of night...
Page 152 - Sure the last end Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit ! Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground, Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.
Page 144 - midst the wreck of things which were; There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead. The wind is up: hark ! how it howls ! Methinks Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary...
Page 158 - I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, The sluggish streams that slowly creep below, Which mortals visit, and return no more. Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains!
Page 104 - Is forced in pilgrimage to seek a tomb. Great Britain's heir is forced into France, Whilst on his father's head his foes advance : Poor child ! he weeps out his inheritance.

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