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 11
... O'er nature's still convexity ; High on the heath our tents were spread , The cold turf was our cheerless bed , And o'er the hero's dew chill'd head , The banners flapp'd incessantly . We are not prepared at present , with certainty to ...
... O'er nature's still convexity ; High on the heath our tents were spread , The cold turf was our cheerless bed , And o'er the hero's dew chill'd head , The banners flapp'd incessantly . We are not prepared at present , with certainty to ...
Page 13
Renfrew county William Motherwell. The pause is o'er , the fatal shock , A thousand thousand thunders woke , The air grows sick , the mountains rock , Red ruin rides triumphantly ; Light boil'd the war cloud to the sky , In phantom ...
Renfrew county William Motherwell. The pause is o'er , the fatal shock , A thousand thousand thunders woke , The air grows sick , the mountains rock , Red ruin rides triumphantly ; Light boil'd the war cloud to the sky , In phantom ...
Page 25
... o'er his bed of the ocean , " Ah ! where is my child gone , long does she tarry , " Fond mother forbear , thou'rt not heard by thy Mary , For sound is her sleep on the dark weedy pillow , Her bed the cold sand , and her sheet the rude ...
... o'er his bed of the ocean , " Ah ! where is my child gone , long does she tarry , " Fond mother forbear , thou'rt not heard by thy Mary , For sound is her sleep on the dark weedy pillow , Her bed the cold sand , and her sheet the rude ...
Page 36
... The individual , however , to who was addressed , being wholly unconnected with the work referred to , a ong no influence to obtain a place for it there , it was judged prop * O'er thy own bowers the sunshine falls , But 36.
... The individual , however , to who was addressed , being wholly unconnected with the work referred to , a ong no influence to obtain a place for it there , it was judged prop * O'er thy own bowers the sunshine falls , But 36.
Page 37
Renfrew county William Motherwell. * O'er thy own bowers the sunshine falls , But cannot cheer their lonely gloom , Those beams that gild thy native walls , Are sleeping on thy tomb . Spring on thy mountains laughs the while , Thy green ...
Renfrew county William Motherwell. * O'er thy own bowers the sunshine falls , But cannot cheer their lonely gloom , Those beams that gild thy native walls , Are sleeping on thy tomb . Spring on thy mountains laughs the while , Thy green ...
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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...