The Songs of Scotland Chronologically Arranged: With Introduction and NotesAlison & Ross, 1872 - Всего страниц: 583 |
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Стр. x
... John Tod , John Tod He's owre the hills ' that I lo'e weel Hersell be Highland shentleman Here's a health to them that's awa ' Hey how Johnnie lad ... Hey Donald , how Donald Hey for bobbing John ... Hey the bonnie , how the bonnie Hey ...
... John Tod , John Tod He's owre the hills ' that I lo'e weel Hersell be Highland shentleman Here's a health to them that's awa ' Hey how Johnnie lad ... Hey Donald , how Donald Hey for bobbing John ... Hey the bonnie , how the bonnie Hey ...
Стр. xi
... John ... ... I met four chaps yon birks amang In a saft simmer gloaming ... O : ... In April when primroses paint the sweet plain In Scotland there liv'd a humble beggar In summer I maw'd my meadow D : ... ... : In the garb of old Gaul ...
... John ... ... I met four chaps yon birks amang In a saft simmer gloaming ... O : ... In April when primroses paint the sweet plain In Scotland there liv'd a humble beggar In summer I maw'd my meadow D : ... ... : In the garb of old Gaul ...
Стр. xii
... John Anderson my Jo , John ... ... John Grumlie swore by the light of the moon Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o ' Gleniffer Land of my fathers , though no mangrove here Langsyne beside the woodland burn Lassies , look na sourly meek ...
... John Anderson my Jo , John ... ... John Grumlie swore by the light of the moon Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o ' Gleniffer Land of my fathers , though no mangrove here Langsyne beside the woodland burn Lassies , look na sourly meek ...
Стр. xvi
... John Cope rode to the north right far ... : ... : ... : ... ... ... : Sit ye down here my cronies and gie us your crack Soldier rest ! thy warfare o'er Some say that kissing's a sin Surrounded wi ' bent and wi ' heather Symon Brodie had ...
... John Cope rode to the north right far ... : ... : ... : ... ... ... : Sit ye down here my cronies and gie us your crack Soldier rest ! thy warfare o'er Some say that kissing's a sin Surrounded wi ' bent and wi ' heather Symon Brodie had ...
Стр. xix
... John and me were married ... When Katie was scarce out nineteen When lonely thou wandered along by the wildwood When Maggie and me were acquaint : : : When my flocks upon the heathy hill are lying a ' at rest When o'er the hill the ...
... John and me were married ... When Katie was scarce out nineteen When lonely thou wandered along by the wildwood When Maggie and me were acquaint : : : When my flocks upon the heathy hill are lying a ' at rest When o'er the hill the ...
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
aboon ALLAN CUNNINGHAM ALLAN RAMSAY amang auld bairns baith bawbee blaw blythe bonnet bonnie lassie bosom braes braw canna cauld Charlie charms dear dinna Donald e'en e'er Edinburgh fair Farewell flowers frae gane gang gear Geordie gi'e glen green gude gudeman ha'e hame heart HERD'S COLLECTION Highland laddie hills ilka JAMES HOGG Jamie Jenny John Tod Johnnie Johnnie Cope king kiss lady laird lass lo'e luve Maggie Mary maun mither mony morning nae mair naething nane ne'er never night o'er ower owre plaid Rob Roy Macgregor ROBERT BURNS ROBERT TANNAHILL sang Scotland Scottish siller sing smile song sweet syne tears thee There's thine thou wadna weel Whigs wife WILLIAM MOTHERWELL Willie winna Yarrow ye'll ye're yestreen young
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Стр. 446 - A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind!
Стр. 388 - 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 l 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. 238 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa?
Стр. 205 - O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green, The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene. " The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day!
Стр. 386 - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Стр. 209 - And mony a hill between ; But, day and night, my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : I hear her in the tunefu...
Стр. 237 - THAT AND A' THAT" Is there, for honest Poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a
Стр. 21 - I'll never love thee more. Like Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone ; My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne : He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch To win or lose it all.
Стр. 212 - I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. Who shall say that fortune grieves him While the star of hope she leaves him ? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy ; But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met — or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Стр. 387 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love!