Choice English Lyrics |
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Page 51
... sighing , the pale flowers are dying , And the Year On the earth her death - bed , in a shroud of leaves dead , Is lying . Come , Months , come away , From November to May , In your saddest array ; Follow the bier Of the dead cold Year ...
... sighing , the pale flowers are dying , And the Year On the earth her death - bed , in a shroud of leaves dead , Is lying . Come , Months , come away , From November to May , In your saddest array ; Follow the bier Of the dead cold Year ...
Page 53
... sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain . Alone , alone , Upon a mossy stone , She sits and reckons up the dead and gone , With the last leaves for a love - rosary ; Whilst all the wither'd world looks drearily ...
... sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain . Alone , alone , Upon a mossy stone , She sits and reckons up the dead and gone , With the last leaves for a love - rosary ; Whilst all the wither'd world looks drearily ...
Page 62
... sigh , come and weep ! " - " Merry Hours , smile instead , For the Year is but asleep ; See , it smiles as it is sleeping , Mocking your untimely weeping . " . " As an earthquake rocks a corse In its coffin in the clay , So white Winter ...
... sigh , come and weep ! " - " Merry Hours , smile instead , For the Year is but asleep ; See , it smiles as it is sleeping , Mocking your untimely weeping . " . " As an earthquake rocks a corse In its coffin in the clay , So white Winter ...
Page 83
... sighing and sabbing , Ilk ane lifts her leglin , and hies her away . In har'st , at the shearing , nae youths now are jeering , Bandsters are lyart , and runkled , and grey ; At fair or at preaching , nae wooing , nae fleeching — The ...
... sighing and sabbing , Ilk ane lifts her leglin , and hies her away . In har'st , at the shearing , nae youths now are jeering , Bandsters are lyart , and runkled , and grey ; At fair or at preaching , nae wooing , nae fleeching — The ...
Page 101
... sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave ! While the billow mournful rolls And the mermaid's song condoles , Singing glory to the souls Of the brave ! -THOMAS CAMPBELL . 14 . HOHENLINDEN . ON Linden , when the sun was low , All ...
... sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave ! While the billow mournful rolls And the mermaid's song condoles , Singing glory to the souls Of the brave ! -THOMAS CAMPBELL . 14 . HOHENLINDEN . ON Linden , when the sun was low , All ...
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Common terms and phrases
abbot auld Avès ballad Barbara Allen battle BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN BATTLE OF NASEBY beauty birds blood blow bonnie breast bright Charlemagne cheek crown dead dear death deep doth dreams earth English eyes fair father flowers gallant glory grace grave green hair hand hath head hear heart heaven hill hour John King kiss Lady Clare land light live Lochinvar look Lord lovers maidens merry Minstrels and maids moon mother ne'er never night numbers o'er PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY pibroch poem Procne Richard Barnfield ride ROBERT HERRICK Robin Hood rode rose Samian wine shepherds sigh sing sister sleep smile snow song sorrow soul Spirit spring star steed summer sweet tear tell Tereus thee thine thou art thou hast Toll slowly tree TWA BROTHERS TWA SISTERS unto waves wild WILLIAM WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings
Popular passages
Page 48 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 54 - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Page 200 - TO HELEN Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 94 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 186 - 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 hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Page 73 - HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns," he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Page 49 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Page 158 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face. That never a hall such a galliard did grace: While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, "Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Page 186 - GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying : And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying.
Page 102 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden, saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.