Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Volumen3

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W. Blackwood and sons, 1902
 

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Página 128 - O that I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says "Haste and come to me!
Página 386 - But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow ; Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, I never loved but you. For you alone I ride the ring, For you I wear the blue ; For you alone I strive to sing, O tell me how to woo ! Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ; O tell me how to woo thee ! For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, Tho ne'er another trow me.
Página 322 - Bring water from the well; For a' my house shall feast this night, Since my three sons are well.
Página 58 - OI fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, my son! OI fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man! " " O yes! I am poisond; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.
Página 113 - I watch'd his body night and day ; No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back, And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat ; I digg'da grave, and laid him in, And happ'd him with the sod sae green. But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the moul...
Página 405 - Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border ! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; Women and bairns are heartless and wae; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — The Flowers of the Forest are a
Página 127 - Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me ! 0 think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spak nae mair There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirconnell Lee.
Página 168 - ... will take the left, but both of them must first pass the bridge, called in Arabic, al Sirat. which they say is laid over the midst of hell, and described to be finer than a hair, and sharper than the edge of a sword...
Página 117 - I wish I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; And I am weary of the skies, For her sake that died for me.
Página 57 - O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son? O where hae ye been, my handsome young man ? " "I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down." " Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son ? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?

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