What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Airdrie Alex Alexander Almada Street Alston Dykes Andrew Archibald the Grim Auchingramont Auchinraith baker Bank Barncluith Boad Bothwell Castle Bothwell Church Bothwell Road Bothwellhaugh Brandon Street builder burgh Burnbank Burnbank Road Cadzow Buildings CADZOW CASTLE Cadzow St Cadzow Street Campbell Street Castle Street Chapel Street Church Street Clerk Clyde Cottage Covenanters Crescent Darcie's David Douglas Duke of Hamilton Duke Street Earl Walter Edinburgh finest flesher gardener Gateside Street George Glasgow grocer and spirit Henderson High Blantyre Holmes Street House James James Naismith Janet John King Kirkfield Lord Darcie M'Ghie messenger-at-arms Miller Miss Muir Street Naismith Nisbet Nisbet's Buildings o'er Palace Parish Paterson preses Quarry Street Robert Robertson Scotland Scottish shoemaker Silverwells Smith spirit dealer spirit retailer Strathaven Street—house tailor and clothier thee Thomas Thomson thou Torfoot tower town Townhead Street U.P. Church UDDINGSTON Union Street Villa weaving agent William Wilson Windmill Road wright writer
Page 31 - I row'd my apron round his head, For fear my men should tell, And I hid him in my Lord's castle, And I nursed him there mysell.
Page 18 - Through the huge oaks of Evandale, Whose limbs a thousand years have worn. What sullen roar comes down the gale, And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, That roam in woody Caledon, Crashing the forest in his race, The mountain bull comes thundering on. Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band, He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand. And tosses high his mane of snow.
Page 33 - So fell it out of late years, that an English gentleman, travelling in Palestine, not far from Jerusalem, as he passed through a country town, he heard, by chance, a woman sitting at her door, dandling her child, to sing, Bothwell bank, thou bloomest fair.
Page 72 - My sledge and hammer lie reclined, My bellows, too, have lost their wind; . My fire's extinct, my forge decayed, And in the dust my vice is laid. My coal is spent, my iron's gone, My nails are drove, my work is done ; My fire-dried corpse lies here at rest, And, smoke-like, soars up to be bless'd.
Page 42 - The slender harebell, or the purple heather; No taller than the foxglove's spiky stem, That dew of morning studs with silvery gem. Then every butterfly that crossed our view With joyful shout was greeted as it flew, And moth and lady-bird and beetle bright In sheeny gold were each a wondrous sight. Then as we paddled barefoot, side by side, Among the sunny shallows of the Clyde, Minnows or spotted par with twinkling fin...
Page 34 - The gentleman hereat exceedingly wondered, and forthwith in English saluted the woman, who joyfully answered him; and said, she was right glad there to see a gentleman of our isle ; and told him that she was a Scottish woman, and came first from Scotland to Venice, and from Venice thither, where her fortune was to be the wife of an officer under the Turk ; who, being at that instant absent, and very soon to return, she entreated the gentleman to stay there until his return. The which he did...
Page 30 - But I went to Bothwell brigg, Janet, — There was nane durst hinder me, — For I wantit to hear a' I could hear, And to see what I could see ; " And there I found your brave husband, As viewing the dead my lane ; He was lying in the very foremost rank, In the midst of a heap o
Page 32 - Though ye should never do mair." " Get up, get up, my kind' Janet, But never trow tongue or pen, That a' the warld are lost to good, Except the Covenant men.
Page 29 - But wi' your fightings and your faith, Your ravings and your rage, There you have lost a leal helpmate, In the blossom of his age. "And what's to come o' ye, my poor Janet, Wi
Page 67 - Unskill'd in arms, with useless courage stood, While gentle Monmouth grieved to shed his blood ; But fierce Dundee, inflamed with deadly hate, In vengeance for the great Montrose's fate, Let loose the sword, and to the hero's shade A barbarous hecatomb of victims...