File:Ballads and lyrics (1880) (14781773175).jpg

Identifier: balladslyrics02lodg (find matches)
Title: Ballads and lyrics
Year: 1880 (1880s)
Authors: Lodge, Henry C., (from old catalog) comp
Subjects:
Publisher: Boston, Houghton, Mifflin & Co
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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Text Appearing Before Image:
nd woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o its luve.And fondly sae did I o mine. 110 BALLADS AXD LYRICS. Wi lightsome heart I pud a ro>e,Fu sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause luver stole my rose,But, ah I he left the thorn wi me. Robert BuRxa. EYEXIXG. The sun upon the lake is low, The wild birds hush their song,The hills have evenings deepest glow, Yet Leonard tarries long.Xow all whom varied toil and care From home and love divide,In the calm sunset may repair Each to the loved ones side. The noble dame on turret high, Who waits her gallant knight,Looks to the western beam to spy The llash of armor bright.The village maid, with hand on b:ow The level ray to shade.Upon the footpath watches now For Colins darkening plaid. Now to their mates the wild swans row, By day they swam apart,And to the thicket wanders slow The hind beside the hart.The woodlark at his partners side Twitters his closing song —All meet whom day and care divide, But Leonard tarries long ! Sib Walter Scott.
Text Appearing After Image:
The sun upon the lake is low. See p. no. SONG. Ill SONG. There is mist on the mountain and night on the vale,But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.A stranjrer commanded —it sunk on the land,It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust,The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust:On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear,It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse,Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse!Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone,That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past,The morn on our mountains is dawning at last;Glenaladales peaks are illumed with the rays.And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze, O high-minded Moray! — the exiled — the dear!In the blush of the dawning the Standard uprear!Wide, wide to the winds of the north let it fly,Like the suns

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