Songs and ballads of Clydesdale. With illustr. notes by A. Nimmo

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A Nimmo
1882
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Page 179 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Page 88 - The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne, The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep, The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
Page 85 - Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood, When the minister's home was the mountain and wood ; When in Wellwood's dark valley the standard of Zion, All bloody and torn 'mong the heather was lying.
Page 208 - He's lifted her on a milk-white steed, And himself on a dapple grey. With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And slowly they baith rade away. O they rade on, and on they rade, And a' by the light of the moon, Until they came to yon wan water, And there they lighted down.
Page 89 - They loved, but the story we cannot unfold; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold ; They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.
Page 245 - WHEN SHALL WE ALL MEET AGAIN? WHEN shall we all meet again ? When shall we all meet again ? Oft shall glowing hope expire, Oft shall wearied love retire, Oft shall death and sorrow reign, Ere we all shall meet again.
Page 149 - Though green at noon, cut down at night, Shows thy decay, All flesh is hay : Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
Page 88 - The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. So the multitude goes — like the flower...
Page 185 - I was a bride. E'en tak to your wheel and be clever, And draw out your thread in the sun { The gear that is gifted it never Will last like the gear that is won. Woo'd and married and a, ! Wi
Page 87 - Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud? — Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passeth from life to his rest in the grave. "The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around, and together be laid ; And the young and the old, and the low and the high. Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie.

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