Yorkshire: Its Scenes, Lore and Legends Elaborated from a Prize Essay Wriiten for the Bradford Geographical Exhibition, 1887

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E. J. Arnold, 1888 - 100 pages

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Page 38 - OLD stories tell, how Hercules A dragon slew at Lerna, With seven heads, and fourteen eyes, To see and well discern-a : But he had a club, this dragon to drub, Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye : But More of More-hall, with nothing at all, He slew the dragon of Wantley.
Page 19 - Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep: Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep.
Page 41 - In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung, On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw, With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw, The George and Garter dangling from that bed Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, Great Villiers lies — alas!
Page 18 - These silver mists shall melt away And dew the woods with glittering spray. Then in broad lustre shall be shown That mighty trench of living stone, And each huge trunk that from the side Reclines him o'er the darksome tide Where Tees, full many a fathom low, Wears with his rage no common foe ; For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career, Condemned to mine a channelled way O'er solid sheets of marble gray.
Page 42 - Stage Pass away my silent Age. Thus when without noise, unknown, I have liv'd out all my span, I shall dye, without a groan, An old honest Country man. Who expos'd to others Ey's, Into his own Heart ne'r pry's, Death to him's a Strange surprise Janx Oxenbrigise Epitaphium.
Page 49 - I'm with my comrades met, Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now. CHORUS. " Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.
Page 19 - Calm and compos'd, my soul her journey takes. No guilt that troubles — and no heart that aches. Adieu ! thou sun, all bright like her arise ; Adieu ! fair friends, and all that's good and wise.
Page 24 - With hound in leash and hawk in hood, The Boy of Egremond was seen. Blithe was his song, a song of yore, But where the rock is rent in two, And the river rushes through, His voice was heard no more ! 'Twas but a step ! the gulph he passed.
Page 20 - Come up like ocean murmurs. But the scene Is lovely round ; a beautiful river there Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads, The paradise he made unto himself, Mining the soil for ages. On each side The fields swell upward to the hills; beyond, Above the hills, in the blue distance, rise The mighty columns with which earth props heaven.

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