The Romantic Scottish Ballads and the Lady Wardlaw Heresy

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A. Brown, 1859 - Ballads, English - 49 pages

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Page 27 - He was a braw gallant, And he rid at the ring; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Oh he might have been a King! He was a braw gallant, And he playd at the ba; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Was the flower amang them a'.
Page 11 - Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm." They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, Till a
Page 20 - Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem was owing to " a lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses ;" and " any reader that can render it more correct or complete," is desired to oblige the public with such improvements.
Page 41 - London, upon Saint James his day. "Upon Saint James his day at noon, at fair London will I be; And all the Lords in merry Scotland, they shall dine there with me.
Page 38 - The shirt that was upon his back Was o' the Holland fine ; The doublet which was over that Was o
Page 17 - O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee : " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, That ever sailed the sea.
Page 43 - O listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. — " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. " The blackening wave is edged with white : To inch* and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams...
Page 23 - And he that had a bonnie boy, Sent out his horse to grass, And he that had not a bonnie boy, His ain servant he was. But up then spake a little page, Before the peep of dawn: 'O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, For Percy's hard at hand.
Page 29 - O bury me by the braken bush, Beneath the blooming brier, Let never living mortal ken That ere a kindly Scot lies here.
Page 29 - Or else I vow I'll lay thee low ! "—

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