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admirable affections afore amang appear auld beauty believe better Byron called character common dead dear death delight doun dreams earth expression eyes face fear feeling frae Galt Gander genius give Glasgow hand hauns head hear heart heaven higher himsel hour human idea imagination intil ither James kind King knowledge less living look mair maist maun mean mind mony Moore nature never Noctes North objects once original ower person picture poet poetry poor reason rest seems sense Shepherd Sir Walter society sometimes sort soul sowl speak spirit strong tell there's thing thocht thought Tickler till true truth verra weel
Page 45 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years...
Page 234 - The other Shape — If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb; Or substance might be called that shadow seemed, For each seemed either — black it stood as Night, Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, And shook a dreadful dart: what seemed his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Page 248 - What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love ! where love like this is found : O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare — ' If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare — One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that...
Page 229 - Now came still evening on, and twilight grey Had in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; She all night long her amorous descant sung , Silence was...
Page 266 - Doomed for a certain term to walk the night; And, for the day, confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purged away.
Page 240 - In that fair clime, the lonely herdsman, stretched On the soft grass through half a summer's day, With music lulled Iiia indolent repose : And, in some fit of weariness, if he, When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear A distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds...
Page 263 - For death, the following day, in bloody fight; So scented the grim feature and upturned His nostril wide into the murky air; Sagacious of his quarry from so far.
Page 358 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare, for his honour'd bones, The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou, in our wonder and astonishment, Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Page 359 - Sir Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. It was a beautiful day — so warm, that every window was wide open — and so perfectly still, that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, 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 eyes.