A Survey of English Literature 1780-1880, Volume 1

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Page 122 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a" the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi
Page 161 - In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet?
Page 22 - The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made ! How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Page 125 - ... simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle.
Page 241 - As the ends of such a partnership cannot be obtained in many generations, it becomes a partnership not only between those who are living, but between those who are living, those who are dead, and those who are to be born.
Page 28 - Must hear Humanity in fields and groves Pipe solitary anguish; or must hang Brooding above the fierce confederate storm Of sorrow, barricadoed evermore Within the walls of cities...
Page 22 - Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired...
Page 110 - I am nae Poet, in a sense, But just a Rhymer, like, by chance, An' hae to learning nae pretence, Yet, what the matter ? Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. Your critic-folk may cock their nose, And say, ' How can you e'er propose, You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, To mak a sang ?' But, by your leaves, my learned foes, Ye're maybe wrang. What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns an...
Page 160 - PITY would be no more If we did not make somebody Poor; And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we. And mutual fear brings peace, Till the selfish loves increase: Then Cruelty knits a snare And spreads his baits with care.
Page 125 - From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 'An honest man's the noblest work of God'; And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp?

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