Specimens of British Poetesses

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T. Rodd, 1827 - English poetry - 446 pages
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Page 371 - Or, wherefore am I spar'd to cry out, Woe is me ! 6. My father argued sair — my mother didna speak, But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea; And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.
Page 433 - of the tomb! I have pass'd o'er the hills of the stormy North, And the larch has hung all his tassels forth; The fisher is out on the sunny sea, And the rein-deer bounds thro' the pasture free, And the pine has a fringe of softer green, And the moss looks bright where my step has
Page 403 - It is our opening day. Nor board nor garner own we now, Nor roof nor latched door, Nor kind mate bound by holy vow To bless a good man's store ; Noon lulls us in a gloomy den, And night is grown our day, Up-rouse ye, then, my merry men ! And use it as ye may. SONG.
Page 321 - So Faith shall seek the lowly dust Where humble Sorrow loves to lie, And bid her thus her hopes intrust, And watch with patient, cheerful eye; And bear the long, cold wintry night, And bear her own degraded doom, And wait till Heaven's reviving light, Eternal Spring! shall burst the gloom. MARY BRUNTON,
Page 19 - grieve, and dare not show my discontent; I love, and yet am forc'd to seem to hate; I do, yet dare not say I ever meant; I seem stark mute, but inwardly do prate: I am, and not; I freeze, and yet am burn'd, Since from myself, my other self I turn'd.
Page 331 - The Three Warnings. The tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground; 'Twas therefore said, by ancient sages, That love of life increas'd with years So much, that in our latter stages, When pain grows sharp, and sickness rages, If old assertions can't prevail, Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale. When sports went round, and all were gay, On neighbour
Page 199 - champagne and a chicken at last, May every fond pleasure that moment endear; Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear! Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd, He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud, Till lost in the joy, we confess that we live, And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive. And that
Page 328 - tormentors! your threats are in vain, For the son of Alknomook will never complain. Remember the arrows he shot from his bow, Remember your chiefs, by his hatchet laid low: Why so slow ? Do you wait till 1 shrink from the
Page 405 - near. Up! lady fair, and braid thy hair, And rouse thee in the breezy air; The lulling stream, that sooth'd thy dream, Is dancing in the sunny beam; And hours so sweet, so bright, so gay, Will waft good fortune on its way. Up! time will tell; the friar's bell Its service sound hath
Page 334 - With but a secretary's warrant: " Besides, you promis'd me Three Warnings, " Which I have look'd for nights and mornings! " But for that loss of time and ease, " I can recover damages.

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