The Poetical Works of William Motherwell

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D. Robertson, 1849 - English poetry - 318 pages
 

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Page lxi - And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat ; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien ; While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.
Page xvi - I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot; But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart Still travels on its way; And channels deeper, as it rins, The luve o' life's young day. O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sindered young, I've never seen your face, nor heard The music o...
Page 24 - In the silentness o' joy, till baith Wi' very gladness grat. Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun your cheek Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane Had ony power to speak! That was a time, a blessed time, When hearts were fresh and young When freely...
Page 27 - It's vain to comfort me, Willie, Sair grief maun hae its will — But let me rest upon your briest, To sab and greet my fill. Let me sit on your knee, Willie, Let me shed by your hair, And look into the face, Willie, I never sail see mair ! I'm sittin...
Page 147 - Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon for thought-crazed wight like me, To smell again these summer flowers beneath this summer tree ! To suck once more in every breath their little souls away, And feed my fancy with fond dreams of youth's bright summer day, When, rushing forth like untamed colt, the reckless, truant boy Wandered through greenwoods all day long, a mighty heart of joy!
Page 28 - And hailin' ower your chin : Why weep ye sae for worthlessness. For sorrow, and for sin? I'm weary o' this warld, Willie, And sick wi' a' I see ; I canna live as I ha'e lived, Or be as I should be. But fauld unto your heart, Willie, The heart that still is thine, And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek Ye said was red langsyne. A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie, A sair stoun' through my heart ; O haud me up, and let me kiss Thy brow ere we twa pairt.
Page 206 - Will there be one whose heart despair is crushing Mourn for my sake ? When the bright sun upon that spot is shining With purest ray, And the small flowers their buds and blossoms twining, Burst through that clay ; Will there be one still on that spot repining Lost hopes all day ? When...
Page 344 - ... of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me. I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer With their wild eyes, like glittering beads, to note if harm were near; I passed them by, and blessed them all; I felt that it was good To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home was in the wood.
Page lxi - ... by indulging some peculiar habits of thought was eminently delighted with those flights of imagination which pass the bounds of nature, and to which the mind is reconciled only by a passive acquiescence in popular traditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, and monsters; he delighted to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the waterfalls of Elysian gardens.
Page 19 - But blacker fa' awaits the heart Where first fond luve grows cule. 0 dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows owre my path, And blind my een wi...

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