The Picture of Scotland, Volume 1

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William Tait, 1827 - Scotland
 

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Page 122 - When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower ; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die...
Page 158 - But thou, that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation. Meek loveliness is round thee spread — A softness still and holy, The grace of forest charms decayed, And pastoral melancholy.
Page 157 - O that some Minstrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness...
Page 122 - When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, Then go— but go alone the while — Then view St. David's ruined pile ; And, home' returning, soothly swear, Was never scene so sad and fair ! II.
Page 158 - Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in ; For manhood to enjoy his strength ; And age to wear away in...
Page viii - I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia ; to sit on the fields of her battles ; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers ; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes.
Page 121 - IF thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,* Go visit it by the pale moonlight : For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the rums gray.
Page 159 - The sober hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. I see — but not by sight alone, Loved Yarrow, have I won thee; A ray of Fancy still survives — Her sunshine plays upon thee...
Page 82 - SWEET TEVIOT ! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore ; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.
Page 98 - Lylliard lies under this stane, Little was her stature, but great was her fame ; Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps, And when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her stumps.

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