The Life of Mansie Wauch: Tailor in Dalkeith

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W. Blackwood and Sons, 1879 - 236 страница

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Страница 180 - His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And while he heaven and earth defied Changed his hand, and checked his pride. He chose a 'mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood...
Страница 98 - So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear, Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear, And hears him rustling in the wood, and sees His course at distance by the bending trees ; And thinks, Here comes my mortal enemy, And either he must fall in fight, or I...
Страница 64 - THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Страница 71 - Weep not for her ! — Her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline, Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers, Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light, Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night...
Страница 146 - dust to dust," The solemn priest hath said, So we lay the turf above thee now, And we seal thy narrow bed : But thy spirit, brother, soars away Among the faithful blest, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest.
Страница 135 - A fig for those by law protected ! Liberty's a glorious feast ! Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest.
Страница 66 - ... there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease.
Страница 64 - Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces. How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Страница 205 - It's no in making muckle, mair : It's no in books, it's no in lear, To make us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest : Nae treasures, nor pleasures, Could make us happy lang; The heart ay's the part ay, That makes us right or wrang. Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge and drive thro...
Страница 71 - Like long-link'd, shadeless months of Polar light ; Like music floating o'er a waveless lake, While Echo answers from the flowery brake : Weep not for Her ! Weep not for her !— She died in early youth, Ere hope had lost its rich romantic hues ; When human bosoms seem'd the homes of truth, And earth still gleam'd with beauty's radiant dews.

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