The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, Volume 2 (Google eBook)

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A. Constable, 1821 - English poetry
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Page 325 - I watch'd his body night and day ; No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back, And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ; I digg'da grave, and laid him in, And happ'd him with the sod sae green. But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the moul...
Page 219 - Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. " Mony a one for him makes mane, But nane sail ken where he is gane : O'er his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sail blaw for evermair.
Page 227 - And a' the warld might ken right weel, They were twa lovers dear. But bye and rade the Black Douglas, And wow but he was rough ! For he pull'd up the bonny brier, And flang'd in St.
Page 331 - O that I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, "Haste and come to me!
Page 218 - As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane ; The tane unto the t'other say, " Where sail we gang and dine to-day...
Page 331 - Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me ! 0 think na but my heart was sair When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair ! 1 laid her down wi' meikle care On fair Kirconnell lea.
Page 301 - Gae dig a grave, baith wide and deep, And a grave to hald baith him and me ; But lay Christie Graeme on the sunny side, For I'm sure he wan the victorie." " Alack! a wae '." auld Bewick cried, " Alack ! was I not much to blame ? I'm sure I've lost the liveliest lad That e'er was born unto my name." " Alack ! a wae !
Page 48 - What then is this bleating of the sheep in my ears, and the lowing of the oxen which I hear?
Page 331 - ... the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd* Helen dropt, And died to succour me ! 0 think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spak nae mair ! There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirconnell Lee.
Page 226 - Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, Lady Marg'ret lang ere day And all true lovers that go thegither, May they have mair luck than they! Lord William was buried in St Mary's kirk, Lady Marg'ret in Mary's quire; Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose, And out o

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