Calliope: A Collection of Poems, Legendary and Pathetic
Edward J. Coale; J. Robinson, printer, 1814 - Ballads, English - 308 pages
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arms Baron bells beneath blood brave breast bridal bride bright castle cheek cheer child cold cried dame dark daughter dead dear death deep dread Earl eyes face fair faith fate fear feast fell field fight Flower Follow grave green grief hall hand haste hath head hear heard heart Heav'n Henry hill holy hope horn hour King Knight lady land length light live Lord loud maid maiden merrily morn never noble Northumberland o'er once pale Percy plain Prince quoth rage rest rising rose round seen shalt side sigh sight soft soon soul sound stand stay steed stood stream sung sweet sword tears tell thee thou thought true voice wave wild wind young youth
Page 69 - By whom this is denied." Then stepped a gallant squire forth, Witherington was his name, Who said, " I would not have it told To Henry, our king, for shame, That e'er my captain fought on foot, And I stood looking on. You...
Page 173 - And art thou dead, thou gentle youth ! And art thou dead and gone ! And didst thou die for love of me ? Break, cruel heart of stone ! " " O weep not, lady, weep not so ; Some ghostly comfort seek : Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, Nor tears bedew thy cheek.
Page 10 - It is not for myself I weep, Nor for myself I fear ; But for my dear and only friend, Who lately left me here: And while some sheltering bower he sought Within this lonely wood, Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet Have slipt in yonder flood. O ! trust in heaven, the Hermit said, And to my cell repair; Doubt not but I shall find thy friend, And ease thee of thy care.
Page 69 - They clos'd full fast on every side, No slackness there was found ; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground.
Page 168 - Now nought was heard beneath the skies, The sounds of busy life were still, Save an unhappy lady's sighs, That issued from that lonely pile.
Page 170 - And now, while happy peasants sleep, Here I sit lonely and forlorn : No one to soothe me as I weep, Save Philomel on yonder thorn. ' My spirits flag— my hopes decay — Still that dread death-bell smites my ear ; And many a boding seems to say, Countess, prepare — thy end is near.
Page 71 - The noble earl was slain. He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree ; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew he...
Page 72 - And with Earl Douglas there was slain Sir Hugh Montgomery ; Sir Charles Carrel, that from the field One foot would never fly. Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too, His sister's son was he ; Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd Yet saved could not be.
Page 175 - But haply, for my year of grace Is not yet past away, Might I still hope to win thy love, No longer would I stay." " Now farewell grief, and welcome joy Once more unto my heart ; For since I have found thee, lovely youth, We never more will part.
Page 172 - O lady, he is dead and gone! Lady, he's dead and gone! And at his head a green grass turf, And at his heels a 'stone.