Rokeby: A Poem in Six Cantos. Ed. with Introd. & Notes

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Macmillan and Company, 1890 - 290 páginas
 

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Página 68 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me you knew. "This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ;* But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again.
Página 59 - I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen.' 'If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we, That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shall thou speed, As blithe as Queen of May.
Página 60 - So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold Dragoon, That lists the tuck of drum." — "I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear ; But when the beetle sounds his hum, My comrades take the spear.
Página 143 - And now, my race of terror run, Mine be the eve of tropic Sun ! No pale gradations quench his ray, No twilight dews his wrath allay ; With disk like battle-target red, He rushes to his burning bed, Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, Then sinks at once — and all is night.
Página 60 - tis at peep of light ; His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night.
Página 223 - ... passages, waiting for advantages, it is his bed. yea, and almost his household stuff. For the wood is his house against all weathers, and his mantle is his couch to sleep in. Therein he...
Página 222 - ... in waste places, far from danger of law, maketh his mantle his house, and under it covereth himself from the wrath of Heaven, from the offence of the earth...
Página 22 - And woe to those who train such youth, And spare to press the rights of truth, The mind to strengthen and anneal, While on the stithy glows the...
Página 59 - I'm with my comrades met, Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now. CHORUS. " Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.
Página 70 - Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale.

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