Poems of Places: Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, Norway, and SwedenHenry Wadsworth Longfellow J.R. Osgood and Company, 1876 |
Inni boken
Resultat 1-5 av 18
Side 18
... amang the braes alane , An ' softer is the bosom - sigh Of lovely Jean of Aberdeen . Though I had a ' the valleys gay Around the airy Bennochie , An ' a ' the fleecy flocks that stray Amang 18 POEMS OF PLACES . JEAN OF ABERDEEN.
... amang the braes alane , An ' softer is the bosom - sigh Of lovely Jean of Aberdeen . Though I had a ' the valleys gay Around the airy Bennochie , An ' a ' the fleecy flocks that stray Amang 18 POEMS OF PLACES . JEAN OF ABERDEEN.
Side 29
... bosom's treasure ? Robert Burns . A Alloway . BIRTHPLACE OF ROBERT BURNS . LOWLY roof of simple thatch , - No home of pride , of pomp , and sin , So freely let us lift the latch , 66 The willing latch that says , Come in . " Plain ...
... bosom's treasure ? Robert Burns . A Alloway . BIRTHPLACE OF ROBERT BURNS . LOWLY roof of simple thatch , - No home of pride , of pomp , and sin , So freely let us lift the latch , 66 The willing latch that says , Come in . " Plain ...
Side 54
... bosom with impurities ; These thou with indignation off dost fling , Reaching thy goal as pure as at thy source . Ah , sparkling stream , that such were my own course ! James Cochrane . Ayr , the River . HIGHLAND MARY . E banks 54 POEMS ...
... bosom with impurities ; These thou with indignation off dost fling , Reaching thy goal as pure as at thy source . Ah , sparkling stream , that such were my own course ! James Cochrane . Ayr , the River . HIGHLAND MARY . E banks 54 POEMS ...
Side 55
... bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary . Wi ' mony a vow and locked embrace Our parting was fu ' tender ; And pledging aft to meet again , We tore ...
... bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary . Wi ' mony a vow and locked embrace Our parting was fu ' tender ; And pledging aft to meet again , We tore ...
Side 56
... bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary . Robert Burns . TO MARY IN HEAVEN . THOU lingering star , with lessening ray , TH That lov'st to greet the early morn , Again thou usherest in the day My Mary from my soul was torn . O Mary ...
... bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary . Robert Burns . TO MARY IN HEAVEN . THOU lingering star , with lessening ray , TH That lov'st to greet the early morn , Again thou usherest in the day My Mary from my soul was torn . O Mary ...
Innhold
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Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
amang Auchtertool auld Ballochmyle banks of Ayr Ben Lomond beneath Bennachie birds birks birks of Aberfeldy Blaavin blaw blithe bloom blue bonnie Doon bonnie lass bosom bower Branksome Hall brave breast BRIG bright Carmyle Castle Castle-Gordon clouds Clyde Coquet Water corri crag Craig Elachie Craigcrook Craigie Hill Craigie Lea dark David Macbeth Moir dear deep dewy dream fair Farewell flowers foam frae Gadie rins gleaming glen gloom gray green ha'e hath heart heaven Highland hundred pipers lassie lo'ed Lomond lone loud Mary mony morn mountain mourn mournfully ne'er night o'er proud River roar Robert Burns Robert Tannahill rock round sang scene shade shore sing Sir Walter Scott smile solitude of Binnorie Stand fast stray stream summer sweet thee thine torrents towers tree vale wander wave weary wild William Wordsworth wind wood of Craigie
Populære avsnitt
Side 1 - BREATHES there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well...
Side 56 - Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast...
Side 168 - Lo !. the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast, Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements...
Side 73 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw...
Side 55 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi...
Side 170 - Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame.
Side 197 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in 't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
Side 25 - Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Side 183 - YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o
Side 39 - Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the keystane of the brig; There, at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross! But ere the keystane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake; For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle!