The Harp of Perthshire: A Collection of Songs, Ballads, and Other Poetical Pieces Chiefly by Local Authors

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A. Gardner, 1893 - 519 pages
 

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Page 415 - For why ?óbecause the good old rule Sufficeth them, the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
Page 399 - The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary!
Page 402 - Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! Stretch to your oars for the ever-green Pine...
Page 418 - THE NARROW GLEN. IN this still place, remote from men, Sleeps Ossian, in the " Narrow Glen ;'* In this still place, where murmurs on But one meek streamlet, only one : He sang of battles, and the breath Of stormy war, and violent death ; And should, methinks, when all was past, Have rightfully been laid at last Where rocks were rudely heap'd, and rent As by a spirit turbulent ; Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, And everything unreconciled...
Page 103 - There's nae sorrow there, John, There's neither cauld nor care, John, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, John, She was baith gude and fair, John ; And oh ! we grudged her sair To the land o
Page 401 - Moor'd in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise agen, " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe...
Page 75 - Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Thy pledge and broken oath ! And give me back my maiden vow, And give me back my troth.
Page 75 - That face, alas! no more is fair, Those lips no longer red; Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, And every charm is fled. The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. But, hark! the cock has warned me hence; A long and last adieu ! Come see, false man, how low she lies, Who died for love of you.
Page 396 - O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, The birks of Aberfeldy. The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, White o'er the linns the burnie pours, And rising, weets wi' misty showers The birks of Aberfeldy.
Page 410 - Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening, Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen; Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, Is charming young Jessie, the flower o...

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