The Glasgow Poets: Their Lives and Poems

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George Eyre-Todd
W. Hodge, 1906 - English poetry - 437 pages
 

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Page 163 - The water-wraith was shrieking: And in the scowl of Heaven, each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer. " O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, " Though tempests round us gather ; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.
Page 162 - I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. — And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. His horsemen hard behind us ride ; Should they our...
Page 147 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Page 152 - Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight! This mantle", to cover the phantoms of fright. Wizard. — Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north ? Lo!
Page 151 - Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC...
Page 161 - By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 'Twas Autumn — and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
Page 239 - 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 240 - 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 159 - ... thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood and earth, The vassals of his will! Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim discrowned king of day — For all those trophied arts And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Heal'd not a passion or a pang Entail'd on human hearts.
Page 130 - It is not only in the sacred fane That homage should be paid to the Most High ; There is a temple, one not made with hands, — The vaulted firmament : Far in the woods, Almost beyond the sound of city...

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