The Border Magazine: An Illustrated Monthly, Volumen13

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Nicholas Dickson, William Sanderson
Carter & Pratt, 1908
 

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Página 33 - Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie,— The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. Dule 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 foucht aye the foremost,— The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay.
Página 34 - On a circle of stones but barely nine ; They heated it red and fiery hot, Till the burnished brass did glimmer and shine. They rolled him up in a sheet of lead — A sheet of lead for a funeral pall ; They plunged him in the cauldron red, And melted him, lead, and bones, and all.
Página 152 - Sky, in the house of Miss Flora Macdonald, struck me with such a group of ideas as it is not easy for words to describe as they passed through the mind. He smiled, and said, "I have had no ambitious thoughts in it.
Página 183 - What a list of names ! What a host of associations ! What a thing is human life ! What a power is that of genius ! What a world of thought and feeling is thus rescued from oblivion ! How many hours of heartfelt satisfaction has our author given to the gay and thoughtless ! How many sad hearts has he soothed in pain and solitude ! It is no wonder that the public repay with lengthened applause and gratitude the pleasure they receive.
Página 76 - All murder'd : for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp...
Página 33 - 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 140 - 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.
Página 33 - I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking Lasses a' lilting before dawn of day : But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning, The Flowers of the forest are a
Página 131 - I OFT have heard of Lydford law, How in the morn they hang and draw, And sit in judgment after : At first I wondered at it much ; But since I find the reason such, As it deserves no laughter.
Página 212 - O that some Minstrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness...

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