Beauties of the Scottish poets, or Harp of Renfrewshire, a collection of songs and other poetical pieces, with notes, and a short essay on the poets of Renfrewshire [by W. Motherwell. Re-issue of the harp of Renfrewshire, with cancel title-leaf].1821 |
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xviii ÆäÀÌÁö
... native country when he wrote , and could not therefore be very conversant with , or correct in obituaries , and must of necessity have trusted greatly to vague and uncertain rumours , regarding these particulars in the biogra- phies of ...
... native country when he wrote , and could not therefore be very conversant with , or correct in obituaries , and must of necessity have trusted greatly to vague and uncertain rumours , regarding these particulars in the biogra- phies of ...
xxvi ÆäÀÌÁö
... native of Paisley , whose poems were published at Edinburgh , 1813 , in two small 8vo volumes . Of the author , some par- ticulars will be found in the periodical work mentioned below * , The Weavers ' Magazine and Literary Companion ...
... native of Paisley , whose poems were published at Edinburgh , 1813 , in two small 8vo volumes . Of the author , some par- ticulars will be found in the periodical work mentioned below * , The Weavers ' Magazine and Literary Companion ...
xxvii ÆäÀÌÁö
... native lyric poetry ; and while our language lasts , and music hath any charm , their names will be remembered with enthusiasm , and transmitted to ages more reinote with the accumulated ap- plauses of time . Alexander Wilson was born ...
... native lyric poetry ; and while our language lasts , and music hath any charm , their names will be remembered with enthusiasm , and transmitted to ages more reinote with the accumulated ap- plauses of time . Alexander Wilson was born ...
xxviii ÆäÀÌÁö
... native place ; and notwithstanding , they generally evaporate their fine thoughts , and literary acquisitions at the corner of some retired street , or drown them in the rattling of shuttles within the precincts of each particular ...
... native place ; and notwithstanding , they generally evaporate their fine thoughts , and literary acquisitions at the corner of some retired street , or drown them in the rattling of shuttles within the precincts of each particular ...
xxx ÆäÀÌÁö
... native poetry . The tender passion Wilson seems never to have felt , in any of its pleasing or distracting degrees of intensity . He sings of love , because it was a fashionable thing with other poets to do so , and he sung therefore of ...
... native poetry . The tender passion Wilson seems never to have felt , in any of its pleasing or distracting degrees of intensity . He sings of love , because it was a fashionable thing with other poets to do so , and he sung therefore of ...
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Alderney Arthurlie Bard beauty birken blaw bloom Blythely bonny lassie bonny Peggy bosom bower braes breast breath bright Buttermere cauld charms cheek dear death delight e'en e'er Ellen fair father flower frae Francis Sempill gane genius glow gude hame happy heart heaven ilka Jean Adam John Sim Johnny Katy lady lass little sweep lo'e lov'd lover maid Mary maun morning mourn nae mair native ne'er never night o'er owre Paisley peace pleasure poem poet poetical poor quhat R. A. Smith Renfrewshire Robert Sempill Robert Tannahill rose round Scotish Scotland Sempill sigh sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sung sweet sweetly Tannahill tear thair thee There's thine thou thro tree Twas wander warl wave weary weel weep wild Willy wind wyllowe yon burn side youth
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336 ÆäÀÌÁö - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.
4 ÆäÀÌÁö - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
283 ÆäÀÌÁö - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, —...
138 ÆäÀÌÁö - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
414 ÆäÀÌÁö - With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.
384 ÆäÀÌÁö - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
273 ÆäÀÌÁö - THE YOUNG MAY MOON. THE young May moon is beaming, love, The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, How sweet to rove Through Morna's grove,* When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.
416 ÆäÀÌÁö - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither — soon forgotten...
3 ÆäÀÌÁö - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
5 ÆäÀÌÁö - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...