The Northumbrian Minstrel: A Choice Selection of Songs [number 1st]-third, Nummer 1

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W. Davison, 1811 - 48 pagina's
 

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Pagina 33 - For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that; The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will, for a' that, That sense and worth o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Pagina 16 - With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet gown and apron blue. The village church, among the trees, Where first our marriage vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven.
Pagina 22 - The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, And drops at once into her nest : — The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
Pagina 10 - I share what today may afford, And let them spread the table to-morrow. And when I at last must throw off this frail...
Pagina 16 - MINE be a cot beside the hill, A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall, shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Pagina 10 - With a barn for the use of the flail : A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, And a purse when a friend wants to borrow; I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame, Or what honours may wait him Tomorrow.
Pagina 20 - Yet, all its sad recollections suppressing, One dying wish my lone bosom can draw : Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing ! Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh ! Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, Green be thy fields, — sweetest isle of the ocean ! And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, — Erin mavournin — Erin go bragh !* * Ireland my darling,— Ireland for ever.
Pagina 19 - Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken, In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken, And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more ! O cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase...
Pagina 13 - How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight ! How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war ! " Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night, To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar?"
Pagina 48 - Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high ? Has he bid you buy and sell us, Speaking from his throne the sky...

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