Oliver and Boyd's Scottish tourist

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Page 211 - Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade 1 Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast
Page 260 - and bended bows; On right, on left, above, below, Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; From shingles gray their lances start, The bracken bush sends forth the dart, The rushes and the willow wand Are bristling into axe and brand, And every tuft of broom gives life To plaided warrior arm'd for strife,
Page 342 - once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge and the blessings of religion." The steamer anchors off Port St Ronain, in front of the village, a row of about forty thatchedhouses on the shore. IONA.
Page 156 - so warm, that every window was wide open, and so perfectly still, that the sound of all others most delicious to his ears, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his
Page 209 - E'en then a wish, I mind its power, A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast, That I, for puir auld Scotland's sake, Some useful plan or book could make, Or sing a sang at least.
Page 160 - shatter'd tower The mightiest work of human power; And marvell'd, as the aged hind With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind, Of forayers, who, with headlong force, Down from that strength had spurr'd 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 208 - mounts his beast in ; And sic a nicht he taks the road in, As ne'er puir sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast: The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd, Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bcllow'd ; That
Page 154 - With listless look along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,— Are they still such as once they were, Or is the dreary change in me?
Page 264 - hung His shatter'd trunk, and frequent flung, Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high, His boughs athwart the narrow'd sky. Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, Where glist'ning streamers waved and danced, The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's delicious bine; So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream.
Page 208 - him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars through the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk Alloway seem'd in a bleeze."* The

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