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Էջ 238 - One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur: They'll have fleet steeds that follow,
Էջ 176 - Ah me! for aught that ever I could read. Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But, either it was different in blood; Her.
Էջ 212 - XXX. Song. ALLEN-A-DALE. Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning. Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. The mere for his net and the land for his game, The chase for the wild and the park for the tame : Yet the fish of the lake...
Էջ 118 - They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way, And marshal me to knavery. Let it work ; For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar : and 't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines, And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most sweet, When in one line two crafts directly meet.
Էջ 78 - O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Էջ 122 - Thou mayst prove false: at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo ! If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
Էջ 118 - Tis the fire-shower of ruin all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.
Էջ 296 - I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history; And, questionless, here in this open court, Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather, some men...