The Cruise of the Land Yacht "Wanderer", Or, Thirteen Hundred Miles in My Caravan

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Hodder and Stoughton, 1886 - 351 pages
 

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Page 170 - O Caledonia ! stern and wild, meet nurse for a poetic child, • land of brown heath and shaggy wood, land of the mountain and the flood, land of my sires!
Page 17 - Now fades the last long streak of snow, Now burgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow. Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drown'd in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song.
Page 107 - MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order ! March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. Many a banner spread, Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story.
Page 39 - And swells, and deepens, to the cherish'd eye. The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd, In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales; Where the deer rustle through the twining brake, And the birds sing conceal'd.
Page 252 - When the magic of Nature first breathed on my mind, And your blossoms were part of her spell. Even now what affections the violet awakes; What loved little islands twice seen in their lakes, Can the wild water-lily restore; What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks In the vetches that tangled their shore.
Page 256 - O'er all the fragrant bowers, Thou need'st not be ashamed to show Thy satin-threaded flowers; For dull the eye, the heart is dull, That cannot feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are...
Page 142 - I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
Page 260 - WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem : To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! Wi' speckled breast, When upward-springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east.
Page 164 - A deadened clang — a huge dim form, Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm And night were closing round.

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