The Poetical Register, and Repository of Fugitive Poetry for 1801-11, Volum 3

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F.C. & J. Rivington, 1805
 

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Side 217 - Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck, And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. He felt the cheering power of spring, It made him whistle, it made him sing ; His heart was mirthful to excess, But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. His eye was on the Inchcape float ; Quoth he, ' My men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok.
Side 218 - Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell. " They hear no sound ; the swell is strong ; Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock: " O Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!
Side 218 - Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; He scoured the seas for many a day: And now, grown rich with plundered store. He steers his course for Scotland's shore. So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, They cannot see the sun on high: The wind hath blown a gale all day; At evening it hath died away. On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is, they see no land. Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising moon.
Side 216 - No STIR in the air, no stir in the sea: The ship was still as she could be; Her sails from heaven received no motion; Her keel was steady in the ocean. Without either sign or sound of their shock, The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock; So little they rose, so little they fell, They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
Side 218 - The wind hath blown a gale all day; At evening it hath died away. On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is they see no land. Quoth Sir Ralph," It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.
Side 403 - Welcome to a Land of Rest ! Thus the choir of angels sing, As they bear the soul on high, While with hallelujahs ring All the regions of the sky.
Side 293 - He many a creature did anatomize, Almost unpeopling water, air, and land ; Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies Were laid full low by his relentless hand, That oft with gory crimson was...
Side 217 - Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound, The bubbles rose and burst around: Quoth Sir Ralph, 'The next who comes to the Rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
Side 423 - Lo! the wings of the seafowl are spread, To escape the rough storm by their flight! And these caves will afford them a gloomy retreat From the winds and the billows of night ! Like them, to the home of my youth, Like them, to its shades I retire ; Receive me, and shield my vex'd spirit, ye groves, From the storms of insulted desire ! From thy waves, rocky Lannow, I fly ! MISS SEWARD.

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