The Romantic Scottish Ballads: Their Epoch and Authorship

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W. and R. Chambers, 1869 - 46 ページ
 

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5 ページ - And tauld the king o' me, To send us out, at this time of the year, To sail upon the sea ? " Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway, Tis we must fetch her hame.
4 ページ - Our king has written a braid letter, And seal'd it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. " To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem ; The King's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame.
30 ページ - Then up and crew the red, red cock, And up then crew the gray: "Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, That you were going away.
6 ページ - A' for the sake of their true loves, For them they'll see nae mair. O lang, lang may the ladies sit, Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand. And lang, lang may the maidens sit, Wi' their goud kames in their hair, A" waiting for their ain dear loves, For them they'll see nae mair.
5 ページ - They hadna been a week, a week In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o...
44 ページ - Her father lock'd the door at night, Laid by the keys fu' canny ; And when he heard the trumpet sound, Said, "Your cow is lowing, Annie.
5 ページ - Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm." They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, Till a
5 ページ - Now, ever alake ! my master dear, I fear a deadly storm ! " I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm.
30 ページ - There's no room at my side, Margret, My coffin is made so meet. Then up and crew the red red cock, And up then crew the gray: Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, That I were gane away.
30 ページ - Now she has kilted her robes of green, A piece below her knee : And a' the live-lang winter night The dead corps followed shee.

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