The Poets and Poetry of Scotland, from the Earliest to the Present Time, Comprising Characteristic Selections from the Works of the More Noteworthy Scottish Poets: With Biographical and Critical Notices
Blackie & son, 1876
Was andere dazu sagen - Rezension schreiben
Es wurden keine Rezensionen gefunden.
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
appeared arms beauty born called charms dear death DIED Douglas Edinburgh edition English eyes face fair father fear frae give grace green gude ha'e hand happy head hear heard heart heaven hill honour hope hour I'll James John kind king known Lady land language leave light live look Lord maid mair mind morn nature ne'er never night nocht o'er pain play poem poet poetical poetry poor praise prince published rest rise Robert round sall says scho Scotland Scottish seen sing smile song soon soul sound speak stand sweet tell thai thair thee thing thou thought till true verse weel wife wind writings young youth
Seite 481 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, " Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Seite 355 - Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays; Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing,' That thus they all shall meet in future days, There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear, While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Seite 480 - O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar...
Seite 366 - Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Low i
Seite 355 - From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 'An honest man's the noblest work of God;' And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd!
Seite 156 - There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams ; Or winter rises in the blackening east ; Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat...
Seite 481 - mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Seite 466 - Caledonia ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand ! Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill. By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, Though...
Seite 491 - There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found ; And while the mouldering ashes sleep Low in the ground, " The Soul, of origin divine, GOD'S glorious image, freed from clay, In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine A star of day. " The SUN is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky ; The SOUL, immortal as its Sire, SHALL NEVER DIE.
Seite 368 - Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd and said amang them a'; — "Ye are na Mary Morison!