Old ballads, historical and narrative. Collected, with notes, by T. Evans

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1784
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Page 321 - Require the borrow'd gloss of art ? Speak not of fate : ah ! change the theme, And talk of odours, talk of wine, Talk of the flowers that round us bloom : 'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream ; To love and joy thy thoughts confine, Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.
Page 283 - And are not help'd by any; For charity waxeth cold, And love is found in few : This was not in time of old, When this old cap was new.
Page 320 - Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my sight, And bid these arms thy neck infold ; That rosy cheek, that lily hand Would give thy poet more delight Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, Than all the gems of Samarcund.
Page 322 - For her how fatal was the hour, When to the banks of Nilus came A youth fo lovely and fo coy ! But ah! fweet maid, my counfel hear; (Youth...
Page 258 - Then take her," quoth this wicked rogue, And down he let her fall. Which when her gallant lord did see, His senses all did fail ; Yet many sought to save his life, But nothing could prevail. When as the moor did see him dead, Then did he laugh amain At them who for their gallant lord And lady did complain : Quoth he, " I know you'll torture me, " If that you can me get, " But all your threats I do not fear,
Page 257 - Now I have bought my lady's life," He to the moor did call ; " Then take her," quoth this wicked rogue, And down he let her fall. Which when her gallant lord did see, His senses all did fail ; Yet many sought to save his life, But nothing could prevail.
Page 322 - From lips which ftreams of fweetnefs fill, Which nought but drops of honey fip ? Go boldly forth, my fimple lay, Whofe accents flow with artlefs eafe, Like orient pearls at random fining ; Thy notes are fweet, the damfels fay, But oh, far fweeter, if they pleafe The nymph for whom thefe notes are fung L END OF THE GRAMMAR.
Page 252 - She shall not me intreat." > The place was moated round about, The bridge he up did draw ; The gates he bolted very fast, Of none he stood in awe. He up into the tower went, The lady being there, Who when she saw his countenance grim, She straight began to fear.
Page 254 - The crystal tears ran down her face, Her children cried amain, And sought to help their mother dear, But all it was in vain ; For that egregious filthy rogue Her hands behind her bound, And then perforce with all his might, He threw her on the ground. With that...
Page 309 - I'd lay them at her feet to-morrow. But as we bards reap only bays, Nor much of that, though nought grows on it, I'll beat my brains to sound her praise, And hammer them into a sonnet.

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