Scotland. England. London

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Balch Brothers, 1898
 

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Page 64 - Sir Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. It was a beautiful day — so warm that every window was wide open— and so perfectly still, that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes.
Page 193 - THERE are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain : But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better, Under manhood's sterner reign : Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again. Something beautiful is vanished, And we sigh for it in vain : We seek it everywhere, On the earth and in the air, But it never comes again ! LANDWARD.
Page 29 - That hangs his head, and a' that! The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a
Page 29 - Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a" that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A Man's a Man for a
Page 221 - Oh thank GOD, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean!
Page 43 - Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, As if an infant's touch could urge Their headlong passage down the verge, With step and weapon forward flung, Upon the mountain-side they hung. The Mountaineer cast glance of pride Along Benledi's living side, Then fixed his eye and sable brow Full on Fitz- James : " How say'st thou now ? These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu...
Page 38 - But scarce again his horn he wound, When lo ! forth starting at the sound. From underneath an aged oak, That slanted from the islet rock, A Damsel guider of its way, A little skiff shot to the bay...
Page 65 - CALL it not vain: — they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies: Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed Bard make moan; That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distil; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan, reply; And rivers teach their rushing wave...
Page 254 - Bourne that has long run dry, is a little nook composed of two irregular quadrangles, called Staple Inn. It is one of those nooks, the turning into which out of the clashing street, imparts to the relieved pedestrian the sensation of having put cotton in his ears, and velvet soles on his boots. It is one of those nooks where a few smoky sparrows twitter in smoky trees, as though they called to one another,
Page 40 - —He whistled shrill, And he was answer'd from the hill ; Wild as the scream of the curlew, From crag to crag the signal flew. Instant, through copse and heath, arose Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; On right, on left, above, below. Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; From shingles...

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