The Songs of Scotland Chronologically Arranged: With Introduction and NotesAlison & Ross, 1872 - 583 страница |
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Страница vii
... thought And fare ye weel my auld wife And I'll owre the muir to Maggy : ... 212 106 ... 168 ... 483 387 ... ... 569 446 481 336 : 407 469 : 211 ... 342 244 358 ... 115 399 150 387 391 ... 176 ... 578 45 369 50 230 75 163 373 : 23 0.0 91 ...
... thought And fare ye weel my auld wife And I'll owre the muir to Maggy : ... 212 106 ... 168 ... 483 387 ... ... 569 446 481 336 : 407 469 : 211 ... 342 244 358 ... 115 399 150 387 391 ... 176 ... 578 45 369 50 230 75 163 373 : 23 0.0 91 ...
Страница 13
... thought upon , The flames of love extinguished , And freely past and gone ? Is thy kind heart now grown so cold In that loving breast of thine , That thou canst never once reflect On old long syne ? Where are thy protestations , Thy ...
... thought upon , The flames of love extinguished , And freely past and gone ? Is thy kind heart now grown so cold In that loving breast of thine , That thou canst never once reflect On old long syne ? Where are thy protestations , Thy ...
Страница 14
... thoughts of you do banish grief , When I'm from you removed ; And if in them I find relief , When with sad cares I'm moved , How doth your presence me affect With ecstasies divine , Especially when I reflect On old long syne . Since ...
... thoughts of you do banish grief , When I'm from you removed ; And if in them I find relief , When with sad cares I'm moved , How doth your presence me affect With ecstasies divine , Especially when I reflect On old long syne . Since ...
Страница 21
... thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne . He either fears his fate too much , Or his deserts are small , Who dares not put it to the touch , To gain or lose it all . But I will reign , and govern still , And always give the ...
... thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne . He either fears his fate too much , Or his deserts are small , Who dares not put it to the touch , To gain or lose it all . But I will reign , and govern still , And always give the ...
Страница 41
... thought it was a trusty tree , But first it bow'd , and syne it brak , Sae my true love did lightly me . O waly , waly , but love be bonny A little time , while it is new ; But when ' tis auld it waxeth cauld , And fades away like the ...
... thought it was a trusty tree , But first it bow'd , and syne it brak , Sae my true love did lightly me . O waly , waly , but love be bonny A little time , while it is new ; But when ' tis auld it waxeth cauld , And fades away like the ...
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Чести термини и фразе
aboon ALLAN CUNNINGHAM ALLAN RAMSAY amang auld bairns baith bawbee blaw blythe bonnet bonnie lassie bosom braes braw canna cauld Charlie charms dear dinna Donald e'en e'er Edinburgh fair Farewell flowers frae gane gang gear Geordie gi'e glen green gude gudeman ha'e hame heart HERD'S COLLECTION Highland laddie hills ilka JAMES HOGG Jamie Jenny John Tod Johnnie Johnnie Cope king kiss lady laird lass lo'e luve Maggie Mary maun mither mony morning nae mair naething nane ne'er never night o'er ower owre plaid Rob Roy Macgregor ROBERT BURNS ROBERT TANNAHILL sang Scotland Scottish siller sing smile song sweet syne tears thee There's thine thou wadna weel Whigs wife WILLIAM MOTHERWELL Willie winna Yarrow ye'll ye're yestreen young
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Страница 446 - A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind!
Страница 388 - Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest l thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more: Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Страница 238 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa?
Страница 205 - O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green, The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene. " The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day!
Страница 386 - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Страница 209 - And mony a hill between ; But, day and night, my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : I hear her in the tunefu...
Страница 237 - THAT AND A' THAT" Is there, for honest Poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a
Страница 21 - I'll never love thee more. Like Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone ; My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne : He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch To win or lose it all.
Страница 212 - I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. Who shall say that fortune grieves him While the star of hope she leaves him ? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy ; But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met — or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Страница 387 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love!