Songs of Home: Selected from Many Sources ; with Numerous Illustrations from Original DesignsC. Scribner and Company, 1871 - 176 страници |
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Страница 13
... Hill ... .Macdonough . Hill ... Fenn .. THOSE EVENING BELLS . THE FISHER'S COTTAGE .. OLD- " One sweet spirit broke the silent spell " . " Brook , and bridge , and barn " . . C. C. Griswold . Hennessy . .Barry . . Anthony .... 42 ...
... Hill ... .Macdonough . Hill ... Fenn .. THOSE EVENING BELLS . THE FISHER'S COTTAGE .. OLD- " One sweet spirit broke the silent spell " . " Brook , and bridge , and barn " . . C. C. Griswold . Hennessy . .Barry . . Anthony .... 42 ...
Страница 14
... hill thegither , And mony a canty day , John , We've had wi ' ane anither ; Now we maun totter doun , John , But hand in hand we'll go , And sleep thegither at the foot , John Anderson , my jo . BABY'S SHOES . O THOSE little , those ...
... hill thegither , And mony a canty day , John , We've had wi ' ane anither ; Now we maun totter doun , John , But hand in hand we'll go , And sleep thegither at the foot , John Anderson , my jo . BABY'S SHOES . O THOSE little , those ...
Страница 85
... hill , Sow it with penitential pains , And , hopeful , wait the latter rains : Content if , after all , the spot Yield barely one forget - me - not ; Whether or figs or thistles make content , for Charlie's sake . My crop I have no ...
... hill , Sow it with penitential pains , And , hopeful , wait the latter rains : Content if , after all , the spot Yield barely one forget - me - not ; Whether or figs or thistles make content , for Charlie's sake . My crop I have no ...
Страница 92
... hill - slope looking down , The sweet song died , and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast : A wish , that she hardly dared to own , For something better than she had known . The Judge rode slowly down the lane ...
... hill - slope looking down , The sweet song died , and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast : A wish , that she hardly dared to own , For something better than she had known . The Judge rode slowly down the lane ...
Страница 112
... hill . The sally , waving o'er my head , Still sweetly shades my frame ; But ah ! those happy days are fled , And I am not the same . Old times ! Old times ! V. O come again , ye merry times , Sweet , sunny , fresh , and calm ! And let ...
... hill . The sally , waving o'er my head , Still sweetly shades my frame ; But ah ! those happy days are fled , And I am not the same . Old times ! Old times ! V. O come again , ye merry times , Sweet , sunny , fresh , and calm ! And let ...
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angels beauty bells beneath beside binding shoes Bingen birds blessed bonnie break breast bright Charlie's cheek child close cold dark dead dear deep door dream earth Edward eyes face fair father feel feet flowers gentle give gone grave grief growing hair hand Hannah happy head hear heard heart heaven hill Jean JOHN King kiss knee kye come hame land leave light lips live look LOST Mary MAUD meet mind moon morning mother never night o'er once pain passed poor remember rest rose round sake sand seemed shine silent sing sleep smile snow song sorrow soul spring stars sweet tears tell thee There's things thou thought tree Twas weary weel weep Willie window young zour
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Страница 47 - WITH deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, — With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Страница 88 - And saw Maud Muller standing still. "A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. "And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair.
Страница 164 - Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon...
Страница 93 - It might have been.' Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge ! God pity them both ! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these :
Страница 29 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A Violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
Страница 160 - They are only one times one. 0 moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low ; You were bright ! ah bright ! but your light is failing — You are nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face ? 1 hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place.
Страница 86 - Muller, on a summer's day, Raked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee The mock-bird echoed from his tree. But, when she glanced to the far-off town, White from its hill-slope looking down, The sweet song died, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast — A wish that she hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known.
Страница 137 - Woodman, spare that tree ! Touch not a single bough ! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not. That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea — And wouldst thou hew it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke! Cut not its earth-bound ties...
Страница 14 - John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.
Страница 39 - 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