Border By-ways & Lothian Lore

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R. Grant & Son, 1925 - Всего страниц: 208
 

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Стр. 166 - I'd lay me doon and dee. Her brow is like the snawdrift, Her throat is like the swan, Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on. That e'er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her e'e, And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying Is the fa' o' her fairy feet, And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet.
Стр. 138 - And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
Стр. 26 - All things that love the sun are out of doors; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth ; The grass is bright with rain-drops; — on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth ; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
Стр. 54 - Wan water from the Border hills, Dear voice from the old years, Thy distant music lulls and stills And moves to quiet tears. Like a loved ghost thy fabled flood Fleets through the dusky land ; Where Scott, come home to die, has stood, My feet returning stand. A mist of memory broods and floats, The Border waters flow ; The air is full of ballad notes Borne out of long ago.
Стр. 92 - In her bright existence she had more sorrows than are common; but also a soft invincibility, a clearness of discernment, and a noble loyalty of heart, which are rare.
Стр. 37 - Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; At ilka tett of her horse's mane, Hung fifty siller bells and nine. True Thomas, he...
Стр. 119 - BLOWS the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying, Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now, Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying, My heart remembers how! Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places, Standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor, Hills of sheep, and the homes of the silent vanished races, And winds, austere and pure : Be it granted me to behold you again in dying, Hills of home! and to hear again the call; Hear about the graves of the martyrs...
Стр. 138 - I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore...
Стр. 12 - And happ'd him with the sod sae green. But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the moul...
Стр. 21 - THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. Will ye gang wi' me and fare To the bush aboon Traquair? Owre the high Minchmuir we'll up and awa', This bonny simmer noon, While the sun shines fair aboon, And the licht sklents saftly doun on holm and ha".

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