What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
abbot Agincourt auld ballad Barbara Allen battle BATTLE OF AGINCOURT BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN BATTLE OF NASEBY blood bold Robin bonnie brave Burns Charlemagne cheek couldna dead dear death doth Edward England English eyes fair father flowers gallant glory gold grace grave green hair hame hand hath head hear heard heart heaven Helen helmet of Navarre Henry hills horse King kissed Lady Clare land light Little John live Lochinvar looked Lord lovers lyre maid mair mother Navarre ne'er never night noble o'er Phillida flouts Pibroch poem was written Procne quoth ride Robin Hood rode rose sail Samela Samian wine Say nay sigh sing sleep smile song soul star steed stormy sweet swete swetynge sword tear tell Tereus thee thine Toll slowly tree TWA BROTHERS TWA SISTERS valley wild William William Wordsworth wound
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.