Tait's Edinburgh magazine (Google eBook)

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1856
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Page 88 - I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. I...
Page 88 - She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'd ah, woe betide ! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side.
Page 18 - Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling, All are turning, all the day, and we with all. And all day, the iron wheels are droning, And sometimes we could pray, 'O ye wheels,' (breaking out in a mad moaning) 'Stop!
Page 19 - Mid the beeches of a meadow, By a stream-side on the grass, And the trees are showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow On her shining hair and face. She has thrown her bonnet by, And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water's flow : Now she holds them nakedly In her hands all sleek and dripping While she rocketh to and fro.
Page 18 - If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, With your ear down, little Alice never cries; Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, For the smile has time for growing in her eyes; And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in The shroud by the kirk-chime. It is good when it happens," say the children, "That we die before our time.
Page 88 - I set her on my pacing steed And nothing else saw all day long For sidelong would she bend and sing A faery's song.
Page 48 - It is easy to imagine with what tears grace was said over the suppers of that evening. There was little sleep on either side of the wall. The bonfires shone bright along the whole circuit of the ramparts. The Irish guns continued to roar all night; and all night the bells of the rescued city made answer to the Irish guns with a peal of joyous defiance.
Page 48 - Mountjoy grounded, and when the shout of triumph rose from the Irish on both sides of the river, the hearts of the besieged died within them. One who endured the unutterable anguish of that moment has told us that they looked fearfully livid in each other's eyes.
Page 88 - I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried "La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here On the cold hill's side. And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.
Page 18 - From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her. Crying, 'Get up, little Alice! it is day.' If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, With your ear down, little Alice never cries; Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, For...

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