Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh
The sun has left the lea,
17 lines, 1 comment
An hour with thee! When earliest day
Dapples with gold the eastern gray,
21 lines
Birds of omen dark and foul,
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl
36 lines
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
4 lines, 3 comments
As lords their labourers' hire delay,
Fate quits our toil with hopes to come,
8 lines
From a rude isle, his ruder lineage came.
The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth
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To the Lords of Convention 'twas Clavers who spoke.
'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
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Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
16 lines, 1 comment
O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
69 lines
The Abbot on the threshold stood,
And in his hand the holy rood:
76 lines
When princely Hamilton's abode
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers,
201 lines
The glowing censers, and their rich perfume;
The splendid vestments, and the sounding choir;
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Farewell to Northmaven,
Grey Hillswicke, farewell!
32 lines
From Appendix I of 1st Edition.
This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
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Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear,
Has left its last soft tone with you,--
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He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
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The sun upon the lake is low,
The wild birds hush their song,
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Young men will love thee more fair and more fast;
\Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?\
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Viewless essence, thin and bare,
Well nigh melted into air,
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Donald Caird can lilt and sing,
Blithely dance the Hieland fling
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Where shall the lover rest
Whom the fates sever
43 lines, 1 comment
The herring loves the merry moon-light,
The mackerel loves the wind,
52 lines
Enchantress, farewell, who so oft hast decoy'd me,
At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam,
24 lines, 1 comment
There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.
60 lines
Tho' right be aft put down by strength,
As mony a day we saw that,
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Frederick leaves the land of France,
Homeward hastes his steps to measure,
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Dust unto dust,
To this all must;
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Pibroch of Donail Dhu
Pibroch of Donuil,
43 lines
"O hone a rie'! O hone a rie!"
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
264 lines
Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;
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