The book of modern songs, ed. by J.E. Carpenter

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Joseph Edwards Carpenter
Routledge, 1858 - 275 Seiten
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Seite 62 - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home...
Seite 163 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand or freeman fa', Let him follow me!
Seite 241 - Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.
Seite 241 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow...
Seite 252 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Seite 101 - THE BELLS OF SHANDON With deep affection and recollection I often think of those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle their magic spells. On this I ponder where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
Seite 139 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
Seite 63 - Her throat is like the swan ; Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on, — That e'er the sun shone on ; And dark blue is her e'e ; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doune and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying Is the fa...
Seite 194 - Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be?
Seite 255 - The whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, And the dolphins bared their backs of gold, And never was heard such an outcry wild As welcomed to life the ocean child.

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