Songs and Ballads of Clydesdale

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Menzies, 1882 - 247 pages
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Page 207 - Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, And put on your armour so bright, And take better care of your youngest sister, For your eldest's awa the last night.
Page 86 - 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 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 85 - The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming ; The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was rolling, When in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were falling.
Page 245 - s in his clutches, (Buying him crutches ! ) — What can an old man do but die ? THOMAS HOOD. WHEN SHALL WE ALL MEET AGAIN! EN 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 147 - Though green at noon, cut down at night, Shows thy decay, All flesh is hay : Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
Page 171 - ... beside his bier, When not a word was spoken; But every eye was dim with a tear, And the silence by sobs was broken. I have heard the earth on his coffin pour To the muffled drum's deep rolling, While the minute-gun with its solemn roar Drowned the death-bell's tolling.
Page 86 - 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 83 - 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.

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