Heiress of the Blackburnfoot: A Tale of Rural Scottish Life

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Smith, Elder and Company, 1865 - 310 Seiten
 

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Seite 163 - My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone ; The flowers appear on the earth ; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land ; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Seite 199 - For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ ; which is far better: nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you.
Seite 139 - Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear.
Seite 233 - Finding the first conceit of love there bred Where time and outward form would show it dead. cix O, never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. As easy might I from myself depart As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie : That is my home of love : if I have ranged, Like him that travels I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, So that myself bring water for my stain.
Seite 193 - These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country.
Seite 181 - That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past.
Seite 188 - We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne ! We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, Sin auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine : But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin auld lang syne.
Seite 164 - Ere a leaf is on a bush, In the time before the thrush Has a thought about her nest, Thou wilt come with half a call, Spreading out thy glossy breast Like a careless Prodigal; Telling tales about the sun, When we've little warmth, or none.
Seite 192 - Hard is the hert that loveth nought In May, whan al this mirth is wrought ; Whan he may on these braunches here...
Seite 193 - the lawful heir, We two will wed to-morrow morn, And you shall still be Lady Clare.

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