The highland castle, and the lowland cottage, Volume 3

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Page 182 - Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorned adorned the most.
Page 42 - Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more : I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew: Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save : But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ! Oh, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave...
Page 55 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I : And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o
Page 1 - IT is not the tear at this moment shed, When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how beloved was the friend that's fled, Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him.
Page 148 - SWEET TEVIOT ! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore ; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.
Page 183 - That was like her wit, And seem'd her manner and her state to fit; Something there was — what, none presumed to say; Clouds lightly passing on a smiling day, — Whispers and hints which went from ear to ear, And mix'd reports no judge on earth could clear.
Page 210 - Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume, Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom : Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. Tho...
Page 148 - What beauties does Flora disclose! How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed! # Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those, Both nature and fancy exceed. No daisy, nor sweet blushing rose, Not all the gay flowers of the field, Not Tweed, gliding gently through those, Such beauty and pleasure does yield. The warblers are heard in the grove, The linnet, the lark, and the thrush; The...
Page 165 - By studious search, and labor of the brain, By observation, counsel, and deep thought: God never made a coxcomb worth a groat. We owe that name to industry and arts: An eminent fool must be a fool of parts. And...

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