Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets, Together with Some Few of Later Date, Volume 1
E. Moxon, 1844 - Ballads, English - 420 pages
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Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs ...
No preview available - 1999
Adam Bell agayne ancient Anglo-Saxon appears archar arrow awaye ballad Bards called castle Cloudesle copy Cotton Library curious daughter daye dear doth Douglas Du Cange Earl Earl of Northumberland edition editor Edom England English fair fast fayre folio French Garland Geoffrey of Monmouth Gilderoy greene willow hand harp Harper hart hath heart Henry Hist honour Ibid intitled John king knight lady ladye lord mentioned Minstrels mither Music myght never noble Norman Conquest Northumberland Percy Perse play poem poet Poetry princes printed quoth reader reign Robin Hood Romance sayd saye Scotland Scots Scottish Shakespeare shalt shee shew sing slayne song sonnes stanzas sworde syr Cauline thee ther theyr thou thow thre unto Warton willow wold word writer wyfe wyll Wyllyam Wyth yemen yere zour
Page 209 - THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against Fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 173 - A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love.
Page 192 - Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy ; For young men ever were fickle found, Since summer trees were leafy.
Page 174 - A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten ; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps, and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.
Page ii - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 57 - The king has written a braid letter. And signd it wi his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch lauched he; The next line that Sir Patrick red, "O what is this has don this deid, This ill deid don to me, To send me out this time o' the yeir, To sail upon the se!
Page 209 - The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar, now, See where the victor victim bleeds : All heads must come To the cold tomb : Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
Page 253 - Solitude, romantic maid ! Whether by nodding towers you tread ; Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom, Or hover o'er the yawning tomb ; Or climb the Andes' clifted side, Or by the Nile's coy source abide : Or, starting from your half-year's sleep, From Hecla view the thawing deep : Or, at the purple dawn of day, Tadmor's marble wastes survey." observing,