Beauties of the Scottish poets, or Harp of Renfrewshire, a collection of songs and other poetical pieces, with notes, and a short essay on the poets of Renfrewshire [by W. Motherwell. Re-issue of the harp of Renfrewshire, with cancel title-leaf].1821 |
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Page xiv
... father in 1547 , and died in 1576. He lived in a splendid , though troubled æra of our national history , and himself was no inconsiderable actor in its chequered scenes and shifting accidents . His devotion seems to have approached to ...
... father in 1547 , and died in 1576. He lived in a splendid , though troubled æra of our national history , and himself was no inconsiderable actor in its chequered scenes and shifting accidents . His devotion seems to have approached to ...
Page xxiii
... father , because they may have acquired it without the author's knowledge ; or if he was aware of that circum- stance , prudence or modesty may have withheld him from reaping the honour by an avowal ; or they may have risen into notice ...
... father , because they may have acquired it without the author's knowledge ; or if he was aware of that circum- stance , prudence or modesty may have withheld him from reaping the honour by an avowal ; or they may have risen into notice ...
Page lix
... fathers Latin ? And said they mass in surplices and satin ? Could they speak Latin , long ere Latin grew ? And without Latin no mass can be true . And as for heretics , that now translate it , False miscreants , they shame the mass ...
... fathers Latin ? And said they mass in surplices and satin ? Could they speak Latin , long ere Latin grew ? And without Latin no mass can be true . And as for heretics , that now translate it , False miscreants , they shame the mass ...
Page lxxiv
... father wad hae me to marry the miller , My mither wad hae me to marry the laird , But brawly I ken it's the love o ' the siller , That heightens their fancy to ony regard ; The miller is crooket , the miller is crabbet , LXXIV.
... father wad hae me to marry the miller , My mither wad hae me to marry the laird , But brawly I ken it's the love o ' the siller , That heightens their fancy to ony regard ; The miller is crooket , the miller is crabbet , LXXIV.
Page 9
... Tis want that makes my cheeks so pale . Yet I was once a mother's pride , And my brave father's hope and joy ; But in the Nile's proud fight he died , And now I am an Orphan Boy . Poor foolish child ! how pleased was I When news 9.
... Tis want that makes my cheeks so pale . Yet I was once a mother's pride , And my brave father's hope and joy ; But in the Nile's proud fight he died , And now I am an Orphan Boy . Poor foolish child ! how pleased was I When news 9.
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Beauties of the Scottish Poets, Or Harp of Renfrewshire, a Collection of ... Scottish Poets,Renfrew County No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
Alderney Arthurlie Bard beauty birken blaw bloom Blythely bonny lassie bonny Peggy bosom bower braes breast breath bright Buttermere cauld charms cheek dear death delight e'en e'er Ellen fair father flower frae Francis Sempill gane genius glow gude hame happy heart heaven ilka Jean Adam John Sim Johnny Katy lady lass little sweep lo'e lov'd lover maid Mary maun morning mourn nae mair native ne'er never night o'er owre Paisley peace pleasure poem poet poetical poor quhat R. A. Smith Renfrewshire Robert Sempill Robert Tannahill rose round Scotish Scotland Sempill sigh sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sung sweet sweetly Tannahill tear thair thee There's thine thou thro tree Twas wander warl wave weary weel weep wild Willy wind wyllowe yon burn side youth
Popular passages
Page 336 - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.
Page 4 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 283 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, —...
Page 138 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
Page 414 - With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.
Page 384 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Page 273 - THE YOUNG MAY MOON. THE young May moon is beaming, love, The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, How sweet to rove Through Morna's grove,* When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.
Page 416 - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither — soon forgotten...
Page 3 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Page 5 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...