The Royal Minstrel: Or, Melodist's Pocket Songster; a Choice Collection of Standard and Popular SongsJ.S. Pratt, 1844 - 320 páginas |
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Página 10
... the bolts for Jove When the leaves had deserted the trees .. Odd's blood , what a time for a seaman I've kiss'd , and I've prattled to fifty fair maids ib . 107 .. 108 PAGE The sapling oak lost in a dell Down in CONTENTS .
... the bolts for Jove When the leaves had deserted the trees .. Odd's blood , what a time for a seaman I've kiss'd , and I've prattled to fifty fair maids ib . 107 .. 108 PAGE The sapling oak lost in a dell Down in CONTENTS .
Página 21
... tree , When a hundred years are flown . In the days of old , when the spring with gold , Had brightened his branches grey , Through the grass at his feet crept maidens sweet To gather the dew of May . And on that day , at thé rebeck gay ...
... tree , When a hundred years are flown . In the days of old , when the spring with gold , Had brightened his branches grey , Through the grass at his feet crept maidens sweet To gather the dew of May . And on that day , at thé rebeck gay ...
Página 22
... tree it still remains . Then here's , & c . Then was the rare times , when the Christmas chimes Was a merry sound to hear- When the squire's wide hall , and the cottage small Was fill'd with good English cheer . Now gold hath the sway ...
... tree it still remains . Then here's , & c . Then was the rare times , when the Christmas chimes Was a merry sound to hear- When the squire's wide hall , and the cottage small Was fill'd with good English cheer . Now gold hath the sway ...
Página 28
... , Our tent the cypress tree ; We know the forest round us , As seamen know the sea ; We know its walls of thorny vines , Its glades of ready grass , 1 Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass . THE ROYAL ong of Marion's men.
... , Our tent the cypress tree ; We know the forest round us , As seamen know the sea ; We know its walls of thorny vines , Its glades of ready grass , 1 Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass . THE ROYAL ong of Marion's men.
Página 40
... tree , Mocks married men , for thus sings he- Cuckoo , cuckoo , cuckoo , -oh , word of fear , Unpleasing to a married ear . When shepherds pipe on oaten straws , And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks , When turtles tread , and rooks ...
... tree , Mocks married men , for thus sings he- Cuckoo , cuckoo , cuckoo , -oh , word of fear , Unpleasing to a married ear . When shepherds pipe on oaten straws , And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks , When turtles tread , and rooks ...
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Outras edições - Ver tudo
The Royal Minstrel: Or, Melodist's Pocket Songster: a Choice Collection of ... Visualização integral - 1848 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
Adieu Bay of Biscay beauty blest blooming blow body kiss bonny bosom brave breast breath bright Brown Bess Captain charms cheek cheer Crazy Jane cried dear delight Derry drink e'er fair flower Fol deriddle lol friends gale gallant girl grog hark heart heaven Heigh Invermay John Anderson jolly kiss lady lark lass lassie life's live lov'd lover maid Mary merry mild ale Miss Rum Molly Malone morn ne'er never night o'er pleasure poor POST CAPTAIN pretty Rag Fair rest thee ring roar rose round Rum tum diddle-um sail sailors shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song soon sorrow soul storm sure sweet sweetly tears tell there's thou thought tis love Tol de rol true Twas twill vex'd whistle wife wind wine young youth
Passagens conhecidas
Página 24 - 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.
Página 304 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Página 28 - OUR band is few but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea.
Página 62 - They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear ? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well: — Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell.
Página 186 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Página 71 - Of all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.
Página 167 - The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands. And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air. Shuts close his pinions to his breast (If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear), And drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
Página 63 - They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell. In secret we met: In silence I grieve That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee ?— With silence and tears.
Página 29 - Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup.
Página 304 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...