The Book of Ballads

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W. S. Orr, 1845 - English poetry - 152 pages
 

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Page 7 - Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know my words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child.
Page 4 - Thou shall lower to his level day by day, Changing from the best of china to the commonest of clay. As the husband is, the wife is. He is stomach-plagued and old, And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of his gold. When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely then Something lower than his hookah, something less than his cayenne. What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was't the claret? Oh, no, no — Bless your soul, it was the salmon — salmon always makes him so.
Page 126 - Fhairshon, Who was always thought A superior person. Fhairshon had a son, Who married Noah's daughter, And nearly spoiled ta Flood, By trinking up ta water: Which he would have done, I at least believe it, Had ta mixture peen Only half Glenlivet. This is all my tale : Sirs, I hope 'tis new t'ye!
Page 107 - THE LAY OF THE LEVITE. THERE is a sound that's dear to me, It haunts me in my sleep ; I wake, and, if I hear it not, I cannot choose but weep. Above the roaring of the wind, Above the river's flow, Methinks I hear the mystic cry Of "Clo!— oldClo!
Page 6 - 11 to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spitalfields. Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self aside, I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind...
Page 8 - I to wed with Coromantees! I, who managed — very near — To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shillibeer! Stuff and nonsense! let me never fling a single chance away; Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another maiden may. Morning Post (The Times won't trust me), help me, as I know you can; I will pen an advertisement, — that's a never-failing plan.
Page 127 - I. IT fell upon the August month, When landsmen bide at hame, That our gude Queen went out to sail Upon the saut-sea faem. And she has ta'en the silk and gowd, The like was never seen ; And she has ta'en the Prince Albert, And the bauld Lord Aberdeen. "Ye'se bide at hame, Lord Wellington : Ye daurna gang wi' me : For ye hae been ance in the land o' France, And that's eneuch for ye.
Page 117 - Nay, dearest ! do not doubt me, Though madly thus I speak — I feel thy arms about me, Thy tresses on my cheek : I know the sweet devotion That links thy heart with mine, — I know my soul's emotion Is doubly felt by thine: And deem not that a shadow Hath fallen across my love : No, sweet, my love is shadowless, As yonder heaven above. These little taper fingers — Ah, Jane ! how white they be ! — Can well supply the cruel want That almost maddens me.
Page 97 - O'er the garters lightly bounding From her steed with airy whirl ! Gomersalez, wild with passion, Danger — all but her — forgets ; Wheresoe'er she flies, pursues her, Casting clouds of somersets ! Onward, onward rush the coursers ; Bright is Gomersalez...
Page 3 - pon my soul, this is too bad ! When you want me, ask the waiter; he knows where I 'm to be had.

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