Minstrelsy of the Scottish border: consisting of historical and romantic ballads, collected [by sir W. Scott]. [Another], Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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1821
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Page 9 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown...
Page 10 - To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall top-mast ; But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.
Page 207 - OI sleep saft, and I wake aft, It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me ; Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that spier for me." Then Red Rowan has hente him up, The starkest man in Teviotdale "Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell. " Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope ! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell ! " he cried " I'll pay you for my lodging maill, When first we meet on the Border side.
Page lxii - I OFT have heard of Lydford law, How in the morn they hang and draw, And sit in judgment after : At first I wondered at it much ; But since I find the reason such, As it deserves no laughter.
Page 70 - When Percy wi the Douglas met, I wat he was fu fain; They swakked their swords, till sair they swat, And the blood ran down like rain. But Percy with his good...
Page 11 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 207 - Then shoulder high with shout and cry We bore him down the ladder lang; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang. 'O mony a time,
Page 204 - Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?" Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!" "We go to hunt an English stag, Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.
Page 205 - Where be ye gaun, ye broken men ?' Quo' fause Sakelde ; ' come tell to me !' Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the never a word o' lear had he. ' Why trespass ye on the English side ? Row-footed outlaws, stand!' quo' he; The never a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
Page cvii - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.

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