Folklore of Scottish Lochs and Springs

W. Hodge & Company, 1893 - 364 Seiten

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Seite 266 - But in abhorrence backward drew; For, oozing from the mountain's side, Where raged the war, a dark-red tide Was curdling in the streamlet blue, Where shall she turn? - behold her mark A little fountain cell, Where water, clear as diamond-spark, In a stone basin fell, Above, some half-worn letters say, Drink weary, pilgrim, drink and, pray For, the, kind, soul, of Sybil, Grey, Who built, this, cross, and, well...
Seite 321 - And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. Oh, oh ! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee ; And I mysel' were dead and gane, And the green grass growing over me ! SUPERNATURAL.
Seite 321 - Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel
Seite 320 - Love did lichtly me. O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new ; But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa
Seite 116 - A stump of a tree is shown as an altar, probably the memorial of one of stone ; but the curiosity of the place is the well of the saint ; of power unspeakable in cases of lunacy. The patient is brought into the sacred island, is made to kneel before the altar, where his attendants leave an offering in money, he is then brought to the well, and sips some of the holy water, a second offering is made ; that done, he is thrice dipped in the lake ; and the same operation is repeated every day for some...
Seite 320 - I thoucht it was a trusty tree ; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak : Sae my true love did lichtly me.
Seite 160 - When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An' float the jinglin icy-boord, Then, Water-kelpies haunt the foord, By your direction, An' nighted Travelers are allur'd To their destruction. An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies Decoy the wight that late an...
Seite 266 - The tide did now its flood-mark gain, And girdled in the Saint's domain : For, with the flow and ebb, its style Varies from continent to isle ; Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, The pilgrims to the shrine find way ; Twice every day, the waves efface Of staves and sandalled feet the trace.
Seite 160 - When Masons' mystic word an' grip In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Or, strange to tell ! The youngest Brother ye wad whip Aff straught to hell. Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, An...
Seite 2 - Malvey, having each man his provision along with him; every family furnished a peck of malt, and this was brewed into ale; one of their number was picked out to wade into the sea up to the middle, and carrying a cup of ale in his hand, standing still in that posture...

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