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Página 316 - Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale ; Young Frank is chief of Errington, And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen " — But aye she loot the tears down fa
Página 321 - The bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended, Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master.
Página 320 - Come away, come away, Hark to the summons ! Come in your war array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse...
Página 316 - The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair ; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; The ladie was not seen ! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi
Página 217 - HAMLET. Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel ? POLONIUS. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. HAMLET. Methinks it is like a weasel. POLONIUS. It is backed like a weasel. HAMLET. Or like a whale? POLONIUS. Very like a whale.
Página 323 - Are lightly made and lightly broke; The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light; The frost-wind soon shall sweep away That lustre deep from glen and brae; Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone, May blithely wed the Earlie's son.
Página 283 - Tis done — but yesterday a King ! And arm'd with Kings to strive—- And now thou art a nameless thing ! So abject — yet alive...
Página 337 - Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore, Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride.