Rambles in Northumberland and on the Scottish Border ... By S. Oliver, etc

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Page 128 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 277 - And still I thought that shattered tower The mightiest work of human power, And marvelled as the aged hind With some strange tale bewitched my mind Of forayers, who with headlong force Down from that strength had spurred their horse, Their southern rapine to renew Far in the distant Cheviots blue, And, home returning, filled the hall With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl.
Page 26 - For the saying which he cried by the word of the LORD against the altar in Beth-el, and against all the houses of the high places which are in the cities of Samaria, shall surely come to pass.
Page 190 - For seven miles east, and seven miles west, And seven miles north, and south, No blade of grass or corn could grow, So venomous was her mouth. The milk of seven stately cows, (It was costly her to keep,) Was brought her daily, which she drank Before she went to sleep. At this day may be seen the cave, Which held her folded up, And the stone trough, the very same Out of which she did sup.
Page 276 - Thus, while I ape the measure wild Of tales that charmed me yet a child, Rude though they be, still with the chime Return the thoughts of early time ; And feelings, roused in life's first day, (}low in the line, and prompt the lay.
Page 316 - Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in ; For manhood to enjoy his strength ; And age to wear away in...
Page 192 - We have no time now here to waste, Hence quickly let us sail : My only sister Margaret, Something, I fear, doth ail.
Page 208 - The tide did now its flood-mark gain, And girdled in the Saint's domain : For, with the flow and ebb, its style Varies from continent to isle ; Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, The pilgrims to the shrine find way ; Twice every day, the waves efface Of staves and sandall'd feet the trace.
Page 323 - Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me ! 0 think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spak nae mair There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirconnell Lee.
Page 218 - Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, That roam in woody Caledon, Crashing the forest in his race, The Mountain Bull comes thundering on.

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