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Стр. 253 - Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. '"Tell me, thou bonny bird. When shall I marry me?' 'When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye.' '"Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly?' — 'The grey-headed sexton, That delves the grave duly. "The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing, 'Welcome, proud lady.
Стр. 259 - But, present, still though now unseen, When brightly shines the prosperous day! Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen, To temper the deceitful ray. And O, when stoops on Judah's path In shade and storm the frequent night.
Стр. 29 - Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more : Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Стр. 295 - The bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes.
Стр. 120 - Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! Let recreant yield, who fears to die. " — Like adder darting from his coil, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung; Received, but reck'd not of a wound, And locked his arms his foeman round.
Стр. 116 - Where heath and fern were waving wide ; The sun's last glance was glinted back, From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, — The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green, and cold gray stone.
Стр. 47 - Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven; And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'T is that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head!
Стр. 15 - The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire.
Стр. 294 - ... pale ; Young Frank is chief of Errington, And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen " — But aye she loot the tears down fa
Стр. 21 - Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame nught bring The plumage of the raven's wing ; And seldom o'er a breast so fair Mantled a plaid with modest care, And never brooch the folds combined Above a heart more good and kind. Her kindness and her worth to spy, You need but gaze on Ellen's eye...

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