Poems of Places Oceana 1 V.; England 4; Scotland 3 V: Iceland, Switzerland, Greece, Russia, Asia, 3 America 5, Volum 6 |
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Side 29
... Spring's the primrose brac ; The Simmer joys the flocks to follow ; How cheery through her shortening day Is Autumn in her weeds o ' yellow ! But can they melt the glowing heart , Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure ? Or through ...
... Spring's the primrose brac ; The Simmer joys the flocks to follow ; How cheery through her shortening day Is Autumn in her weeds o ' yellow ! But can they melt the glowing heart , Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure ? Or through ...
Side 29
... Spring's the pro The Simmer ge the focus blow How cheery thong , we won y tay Is AutuLL M But can they met te gore wart Or call the you * pess please " Or through fact were the supture dat Like meeting wet , se son's ww Alloway - But ...
... Spring's the pro The Simmer ge the focus blow How cheery thong , we won y tay Is AutuLL M But can they met te gore wart Or call the you * pess please " Or through fact were the supture dat Like meeting wet , se son's ww Alloway - But ...
Side 40
... spring brought aff her master hale , But left behind her ain gray tail : The carlin claught her by the rump , And left poor Maggie scarce a stump . Now , wha this tale o ' truth shall read , Ilk man and mother's son take heed ; Whene'er ...
... spring brought aff her master hale , But left behind her ain gray tail : The carlin claught her by the rump , And left poor Maggie scarce a stump . Now , wha this tale o ' truth shall read , Ilk man and mother's son take heed ; Whene'er ...
Side 42
... springs give birth to lowly streams . William Wordsworth . THE GOLDEN ISLAND : ARRAN FROM AYR . EEP set in distant seas it lies ; The noonday clouds above it rise , fall , Then drop as white as virgin's pall . And sometimes , when that ...
... springs give birth to lowly streams . William Wordsworth . THE GOLDEN ISLAND : ARRAN FROM AYR . EEP set in distant seas it lies ; The noonday clouds above it rise , fall , Then drop as white as virgin's pall . And sometimes , when that ...
Side 60
... springs the brawling Coil , Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil , Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course , Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source , Aroused by blustering winds and spotting thowes , In monie a torrent ...
... springs the brawling Coil , Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil , Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course , Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source , Aroused by blustering winds and spotting thowes , In monie a torrent ...
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Poems of Places Oceana 1 V. ; England 4; Scotland 3 V: Iceland ..., Volum 9 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Ingen forhåndsvisning tilgjengelig - 2016 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Airly Beacon amang Auchtertool auld Ballochmyle banks of Ayr Ben Lomond beneath Bennachie birds birks birks of Aberfeldy Blaavin blithe bloom blue bonnie Doon bonnie lass bonny wood bosom bower braes Branksome Hall brave breast BRIG bright Carmyle Castle Charlie clouds Clyde Coquet Water corri Craig Elachie Craigcrook Craigcrook Roses Craigie Lea Cutty-sark dark David Macbeth Moir dear deep Doon dream fair Farewell flowers frae Gadie rins gleaming glen gray green ha'e heart heaven Highland land lassie Lochiel Lomond lone loud Mary mony morn mountain mourn mournfully ne'er night o'er pale proud River roar Robert Burns Robert Tannahill rock round sang scene shade shore sing Sir Walter Scott smile Stand fast stood stray stream summer sweet sword thee thine Thou bonny torrents towers tree vale wander wave weary Whare wild William Wordsworth wind wood of Craigie
Populære avsnitt
Side 187 - She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Side 45 - 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' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Side 46 - 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 iii - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well : For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung.
Side ix - Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war- array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.
Side 155 - Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
Side x - MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Side 25 - SHANTER: A TALE Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this buke. — GAWIN DOUGLAS. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An...
Side 30 - Tam wi' furious ettle ; But little wist she Maggie's mettle — Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail : The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o...
Side iii - 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...