A Thousand and One Gems of English PoetryGeorge Routledge & Sons, Limited, 1896 - 633 pages |
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Page 134
... busk my head ! Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? For my true love has me forsook , And says he'll never love me mair . Now Arthur - Seat shall be my bed , The sheets shall ne'er be fil'd by me , Saint Anton's well shall be my drink ...
... busk my head ! Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? For my true love has me forsook , And says he'll never love me mair . Now Arthur - Seat shall be my bed , The sheets shall ne'er be fil'd by me , Saint Anton's well shall be my drink ...
Page 135
... come : Born to sustain thy mother's shame A hapless fate , a bastard's name . Balow , my babe ! lie still and sleep , It grieves me sore to hear thee weep . THE BRAES OF YARROW Busk ye , busk ye , A THOUSAND AND one gems . 135.
... come : Born to sustain thy mother's shame A hapless fate , a bastard's name . Balow , my babe ! lie still and sleep , It grieves me sore to hear thee weep . THE BRAES OF YARROW Busk ye , busk ye , A THOUSAND AND one gems . 135.
Page 136
... Busk ye , busk ye , my bonny bonny bride , Busk ye , busk ye , my winsome marrow , Busk ye , busk ye , my bonny bonny bride , And let us leave the braes of Yarrow . " " " Where got ye that bonny bonny bride , Where got ye that winsome ...
... Busk ye , busk ye , my bonny bonny bride , Busk ye , busk ye , my winsome marrow , Busk ye , busk ye , my bonny bonny bride , And let us leave the braes of Yarrow . " " " Where got ye that bonny bonny bride , Where got ye that winsome ...
Page 137
Charles Mackay. " How can I busk a bonny bonny bride , How can I busk a winsome marrow ? How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ! " Oh , Yarrow fields ! may never , never rain , Nor dew thy tender ...
Charles Mackay. " How can I busk a bonny bonny bride , How can I busk a winsome marrow ? How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ! " Oh , Yarrow fields ! may never , never rain , Nor dew thy tender ...
Page 617
... Busk ye , busk ye , my bonny , bonny bride Busy , curious , thirsty fly R : hail , ye mighty masters of the lay B. I remember , when the fight was done But love , first learned in a lady's eyes But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle sky ...
... Busk ye , busk ye , my bonny , bonny bride Busy , curious , thirsty fly R : hail , ye mighty masters of the lay B. I remember , when the fight was done But love , first learned in a lady's eyes But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle sky ...
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Expressions et termes fréquents
ANTISTROPHE art thou Ave Maria beauty beneath bless blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breath bright brow busk charms cheek clouds Clusium cold Cuckoo dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eternal eyes fair fear flowers frae gaze gentle glory grave green grief hand happy harp hast hath hear heart heaven hill hope hour king Lars Porsena light lips live lonely look Lord lyre maid moon morn mourn muse ne'er never night Nut-brown Maid nymph o'er pale pride rill rose round Samian wine shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought tree Twas vale voice wave weary ween weep wild winds wings Yarrow young youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 36 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
Page 69 - His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Page 192 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Page 273 - O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
Page 60 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden demi-paradise ; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Page 103 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Page 274 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Page 70 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Page 30 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives,...
Page 424 - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.