My lady Green Sleeves, by the author of 'Comin' thro' the rye'.

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Page 65 - He is made one with Nature. There is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird. He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone ; Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own, Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Page 133 - Bonnie and blooming and straight was its make, The sun took delight to shine for its sake ; And it will be the brag o
Page 156 - And mony ane sings o' corn ; And mony ane sings o' Robin Hood, Kens little whare he was born. It was na in the ha', the ha', Nor in the painted bower ; But it was in the gude green wood, Amang the lily flower.
Page 65 - His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear; Torturing th...
Page 107 - Empedocles, himself a native of the city, that • the Agrigentines built as if they were to live for ever, and feasted as if they were to die on the morrow.
Page 88 - It was well known that with a woman, a dog and a walnut tree, the more you beat 'em the better they be.
Page 89 - Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, Out o' a bush o* broom — "She that has borrow'd young Tamlane, Has gotten a stately groom. — Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, Out o' a bush o' rye— "She's ta'en awa the bonniest knight In a
Page 68 - THERE was three ladies in a ha', Fine flowers i' the valley ; There came three lords amang them a', Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.
Page 114 - They managed things better in Rome,' I say, laughing, ' where the citizens used to take out their slaves to evening parties to jest for them, and at every shout of laughter provoked by them assumed an air of modesty as if they had said all the good things themselves — it must have saved them a lot of trouble.
Page 211 - The red o' my love's cheek is red As blood that's spilt on snaw. "When ye come to the castle, Light on the tree of ash, And sit ye there and sing our loves As she comes frae the mass. " Four and twenty fair ladies Will to the mass repair; And weel may ye my lady ken, The fairest lady there.

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