The book of ballads [by sir T. Martin and W.E. Aytoun] ed. by Bon Gaultier |
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The book of ballads [by sir T. Martin and W.E. Aytoun] ed. by Bon Gaultier sir Theodore Martin Visualização integral - 1849 |
The book of ballads [by sir T. Martin and W.E. Aytoun] ed. by Bon Gaultier sir Theodore Martin Visualização integral - 1855 |
The Book of Ballads [By Sir T. Martin and W.E. Aytoun] Ed. by Bon Gaultier William Edmondstoune Aytoun,Theodore Martin, Sir Pré-visualização indisponível - 2016 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
armour art thou auld Aytoun Ballads bard bays beer bell beneath Bishop of London bold bosom bound bowie-knife breath brow Charlie Wood cheek cheroot Colt Copmanshurst courser cried Cursed dame dare dear death Don Fernando Gomersalez Dost thou DOUDNEY BROTHERS fcap fear Fhairshon friend who's lost FYTTE Giaour glance Gorbaliers greenwood tree grew gude hame hand hast hath head hear heard janissaries King kiss ladye Launcelot Laureate Laureate's lips Little John look Lord Lord Aberdeen loud maiden merry minstrel Moorish mother Neish never night noble o'er onward poem puddock-pies Queen quoth rose round Rufus Dawes sang Sate Silas sing Slingsby Snapping Turtle song soul speed thee stood stout sure sweet ta'en taylzeour tell There's thine eyes Twas Undine Uwins warrior Warriors three ween weep wine Woolfordinez Young Mivins
Passagens conhecidas
Página 131 - Fhairshon, Who was always thought A superior person. Fhairshon had a son, Who married Noah's daughter, And nearly spoiled ta Flood, By trinking up ta water: Which he would have done, I at least believe it, Had ta mixture peen Only half Glenlivet. This is all my tale : Sirs, I hope 'tis new t'ye!
Página 208 - I'ma wretch, indeed— methinks I see him already in the cart, sweeter and more lovely than the nosegay in his hand! —I hear the crowd extolling his resolution and intrepidity !— What volleys of sighs are sent from the windows of Holborn, that so comely a youth should be brought to disgrace ! — I see him at the tree ! The whole circle are in tears!
Página 77 - But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted Jane! He said that I was proud, mother, that I looked for rank and gold, He said I did not love him — he said my words were cold; He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game — And it may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done the same. I did not know my heart, mother — I know it now too late; I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler mate; But no nobler suitor sought me — and he has taken wing, And my heart...
Página 128 - But when he had gone Half-way down Strath Canaan, Of his fighting tail Just three were remainin'. They were all he had, To back him in ta battle : All the rest had gone Off, to drive ta cattle.
Página 110 - Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know my words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child.
Página 194 - In vain you pour into his ear Your own confiding grief; In vain you claim his sympathy, In vain you ask relief; In vain you try to rouse him by Joke, repartee, or quiz; His sole reply's a burning sigh, And "What a mind it is!
Página 3 - It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well, And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot, tell, When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo, Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.
Página 157 - When, as his fancies cluster thick and thicker, He feels the trance divine of poesy and liquor. They throng around me now, those things of air That from my fancy took their being's stamp: There Pelham sits and twirls his glossy hair, There Clifford leads his pals upon the tramp...
Página 111 - That's the sort of thing to do it. Now I'll go and taste the balmy, — Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted Cousin Amy!
Página 253 - ... arms about me, Thy tresses on my cheek: I know the sweet devotion That links thy heart with mine, — I know my soul's emotion Is doubly felt by thine : And deem not that a shadow Hath fallen across my love : No, sweet, my love is shadowless, As yonder heaven above. These little taper fingers — Ah, Jane ! how white they be ! — Can well supply the cruel want That almost maddens me.