Specimens of British Poetesses: Selected and Chronologically Arranged

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T. Rodd, 1825 - 446 pages

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Page 370 - I'm no like to dee ; For O, I am but young to cry out, Woe is me ! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin ; I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
Page 429 - Yet more, the Depths have more! — What wealth untold Far down, and shining through their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal Argosies. — Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main!
Page 372 - Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie— The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border ! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, The prime of our land, lie cauld in the clay.
Page 377 - Since trifles make the sum of human things, And half our misery from our foibles springs...
Page 264 - THE gorse is yellow on the heath, The banks with speedwell flowers are gay, The oaks are budding, and beneath The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath, The silver wreath of May. The welcome guest of settled spring...
Page 138 - When thro' the Gloom more venerable shows Some ancient Fabric, awful in Repose, While Sunburnt Hills their swarthy Looks conceal, And swelling Haycocks thicken up the Vale : When the loos'd Horse now, as his Pasture leads, Comes slowly grazing thro...
Page 30 - The fairest action of our human life Is -scorning to revenge an injury; For who forgives without a further strife, His adversary's heart to him doth tie. And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said, To win the heart, than overthrow the head.
Page 17 - The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy, And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy. For falsehood now doth flow, and subject faith doth ebb, Which would not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web.
Page 19 - My care is like my shadow in the sun, Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it; Stands and lies by me, does what I have done, This too familiar care does make me rue it.
Page 369 - Gray came a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said, 'Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!

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