James Gordon's Wife

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Hurst and Blackett, 1871
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Page 148 - The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; The monarch may forget the crown ' That on his head an hour has been ; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me ! " LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, BART.
Page 22 - The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed.
Page 133 - As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street And open fields and we not see't ? Come, we'll abroad ; and let's obey The proclamation made for May: And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
Page 133 - Nay! not so much as out of bed; When all the birds have matins said, And sung their thankful hymns; 'tis sin, Nay, profanation to keep in, When as a thousand virgins on this day Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.
Page 1 - And all their echoes, mourn. The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose...
Page 196 - The wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a tropic sky, Might well be dangerous food For him, a Youth to whom was given So much of earth — so much of Heaven, And such impetuous blood.
Page 31 - But me — only shame. My home was still in the shadow, His lay in the sun : I longed in vain : what he asked for It straightway was done. Once I staked all my heart's treasure, We played — and he won. Yes ; and just now I have seen him, Cold, smiling, and blest, Laid in his coffin. God help me ! While he is at rest, I am cursed still to live : — even Death loved him the best.
Page 196 - With hues of genius on his cheek, In finest tones the youth could speak: — While he was yet a boy The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run Had been his dearest joy.
Page 222 - ... light summer love. It was not thus with mine : it did not spring, Like the bright colour on an evening cloud, Into a moment's life, brief, beautiful ; Not amid lighted halls, when flatteries Steal on the ear like dew upon the rose, As soft, as. soon dispersed, as quickly pass'd ; But you first call'd my woman's feelings forth, And taught me love ere I had dream'd love's name.

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