Scenes of Infancy: Descriptive of Teviotdale

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J. & J.H. Rutherfurd, 1875 - 96 sider
 

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Side 60 - I write of youth, of love, and have access By these, to sing of cleanly wantonness ; I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece, Of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris ; I sing...
Side 16 - Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, And lonely Colonsay ; — Scenes sung by him who sings no more ! His bright and' brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strains ; Quenched is his lamp of varied lore That loved the light of song to pour ; A distant and a deadly shore Has LEYDEN'S cold remains ! XII.
Side 60 - Smiling in virgin innocence serene, Thy pearly crown above thy vest of green. The lark, with sparkling eye and rustling wing, Rejoins his widow'd mate in early spring, And, as he prunes his plumes of russet hue, Swears on thy maiden blossom to be true.
Side 60 - Star of the mead ! sweet daughter of the day, Whose opening flower invites the morning ray, From thy moist cheek, and bosom's chilly fold, To kiss the tears of eve the dewdrops cold ! Sweet daisy, flower of love ! when birds are paired...
Side 46 - A moon-parcht grain of purest wheat, With some small glitt'ring grit, to eat His choice bits with; then in a trice They make a feast less great than nice. But all this while his eye is served, We must not think his ear was starved: But that there was in place to stir His spleen, the chirring grasshopper; The merry cricket, puling fly, The piping gnat for minstrelsy.
Side 87 - Bosom'd in woods where mighty rivers run, Kelso's fair vale expands before the sun : Its rising downs in vernal beauty swell, And fring'd with hazel winds each flowery dell: Green spangled plains to dimpling lawns succeed, And Tempe rises on the banks of Tweed. Blue o'er the river Kelso's shadow lies, And copse-clad isles amid the waters rise ; 386 Where Tweed her silent way majestic holds, Float the thin gales in more transparent folds.
Side 49 - Stands the huge trunk of many a leafless tree. No verdant wood-bine wreaths their age adorn ; Bare are the boughs, the gnarled roots uptorn. Here shone no sun-beam, fell no summer dew, Nor ever grass beneath the branches grew, Since that bold chief who Henry's power defied,* True to his country, as a traitor died.
Side 24 - Board, over whom a court-martial was at that very time impending. The medical line had been, from time immemorial, shut out from every appointment, except professional, and the emoluments of these had been greatly diminished just before my arrival. In this situation I found it very difficult at first what to resolve on. I saw clearly that there were only two routes in a person's choice ; first, to sink into a mere professional drudge, and, by strict economy, endeavour to collect a few thousand pounds...
Side 81 - Still doom'd by fate on weltering billows roll'd. Along the deep their restless course to hold, Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide The prow with sails opposed to wind and tide ; The Spectre Ship, in livid glimpsing light, Glares baleful on the shuddering watch at night, Unblest of God and man !— Till time shall end. Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend.
Side 16 - ... like that of the whistling of a tempest through the torn rio-ging of the vessel which scuds before it. The sounds increased as they approached more near; and Leyden (to the great astonishment of such of the guests as did not know him) burst into the room, chanting the desiderated ballad with the most enthusiastic gesture...

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