Yolande: The Story of a Daughter

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Macmillan, 1884 - 472 pages

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Page 238 - I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs By the known rules of ancient liberty, When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs...
Page 191 - THE sun rises bright in France, And fair sets he; But he has tint the blythe blink he had In my ain countree. O it's nae my ain ruin That saddens aye my e'e, But the dear Marie I left ahin', Wi' sweet bairnies three. My lanely hearth burn'd bonnie, An' smiled my ain Marie; I've left a' my heart behin
Page 363 - I've borne a weary lot; But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart Still travels on its way; And channels deeper, as it rins, The luve o' life's young day. O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sindered young, I've never seen your face, nor heard The music o...
Page 238 - Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny, Which after held the sun and moon in fee. But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood, And still revolt when truth would set them free.
Page 238 - Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee. But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood, And still revolt when Truth would set them free. Licence they mean when they cry Liberty ; For who loves that must first be wise and good : But from that mark how far they rove we see, For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.
Page 363 - The deavin' dinsome toun, To wander by the green burnside. And hear its waters croon ? The simmer leaves hung ower our heads, The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin' o' the wood The throssil whusslit sweet; The throssil whusslit in the wood, The burn sang to the trees. And we with Nature's heart in tune, Concerted harmonies; And on the knowe abune the burn, For hours thegither sat In the silentness o' joy, till baith Wi
Page 191 - Oh, gladness comes to many, But sorrow comes to me, As I look o'er the wide ocean To my ain countree. Oh, it's nae my ain ruin That saddens aye my e'e, But the love I left in Galloway, Wi
Page 64 - And could you really discover, In gazing those sweet beauties over, No other charm, no winning grace, Adorning either mind or face, But one poor dimple to express The quintessence of loveliness ? — Marked you her cheek of rosy hue ? That eye, in liquid circles moving ; That cheek abashed at man's approving...
Page 63 - Marked you her eye of heavenly blue ? Marked you her cheek of rosy hue ? That eye, in liquid circles moving ; That cheek, abashed at man's approving ; The one, Love's arrows darting round, The other, blushing at the sound.

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