The Royal Minstrel: Or, Melodist's Pocket Songster; a Choice Collection of Standard and Popular SongsJ.S. Pratt, 1844 - 320 pagini |
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Pagina 10
... O'er the lawns , up the thills Though dimpled cheeks may give A Jew , they call'd him Issac Mo I'm Simon Bore , just come from college Jack Stedfast and I were both messmates The woodman's life , tho ' doom'd to toil Oh ! ' tis love ...
... O'er the lawns , up the thills Though dimpled cheeks may give A Jew , they call'd him Issac Mo I'm Simon Bore , just come from college Jack Stedfast and I were both messmates The woodman's life , tho ' doom'd to toil Oh ! ' tis love ...
Pagina 13
... O'er Nelson's tomb with silent ib . Said a smile to a tear 165 A British soldier is my dad ib . 166 .. ib . 167 .. 168 169 ib . .. 171 ib . 172 173 ib . 174 175 Ah ! little blind boy , much too often In the smiling morn of spring All in ...
... O'er Nelson's tomb with silent ib . Said a smile to a tear 165 A British soldier is my dad ib . 166 .. ib . 167 .. 168 169 ib . .. 171 ib . 172 173 ib . 174 175 Ah ! little blind boy , much too often In the smiling morn of spring All in ...
Pagina 17
... o'er Hounslow Heath to roam By the margin of fair Zurich's waters Behold how brightly breaks Ye banks and braes There's auld Rob Morris 291 .. 2924 ib . 295 297 ib . 298 299 300 -301 302 .. ib . 303 305 ib . 306 307 308 309 Do you ever ...
... o'er Hounslow Heath to roam By the margin of fair Zurich's waters Behold how brightly breaks Ye banks and braes There's auld Rob Morris 291 .. 2924 ib . 295 297 ib . 298 299 300 -301 302 .. ib . 303 305 ib . 306 307 308 309 Do you ever ...
Pagina 25
... o'er barren deserts rove , O'er mountains rude and bare , Bid me the keenest torments prove , That feeling bosoms share ; Bid me no dawn of comfort see , But never bid me part from thee . THE MAID OF LORN . Wake , maid of Lorn , the ...
... o'er barren deserts rove , O'er mountains rude and bare , Bid me the keenest torments prove , That feeling bosoms share ; Bid me no dawn of comfort see , But never bid me part from thee . THE MAID OF LORN . Wake , maid of Lorn , the ...
Pagina 26
... O'er kings who sleep in pyramidic pride ; But now for British valour far more fam'd , Since Nelson's hand achieved a glorious day , And , crown'd with laurel , Abercrombie died . AIR . Her roseate colours the dawn did shed O'er THE ...
... O'er kings who sleep in pyramidic pride ; But now for British valour far more fam'd , Since Nelson's hand achieved a glorious day , And , crown'd with laurel , Abercrombie died . AIR . Her roseate colours the dawn did shed O'er THE ...
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Alte ediții - Afișează-le pe toate
The Royal Minstrel: Or, Melodist's Pocket Songster: a Choice Collection of ... Vizualizare completă - 1848 |
Termeni și expresii frecvente
Adieu Bay of Biscay beauty blest blooming blow body kiss bonny bosom brave breast breath bright Brown Bess Captain charms cheek cheer Crazy Jane cried dear delight Derry drink e'er fair flower Fol deriddle lol friends gale gallant girl grog hark heart heaven Heigh Invermay John Anderson jolly kiss lady lark lass lassie life's live lov'd lover maid Mary merry mild ale Miss Rum Molly Malone morn ne'er never night o'er pleasure poor POST CAPTAIN pretty Rag Fair rest thee ring roar rose round Rum tum diddle-um sail sailors shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song soon sorrow soul storm sure sweet sweetly tears tell there's thou thought tis love Tol de rol true Twas twill vex'd whistle wife wind wine young youth
Pasaje populare
Pagina 24 - John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.
Pagina 304 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Pagina 28 - OUR band is few but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea.
Pagina 62 - They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear ? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well: — Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell.
Pagina 186 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh!
Pagina 71 - Of all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.
Pagina 167 - The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands. And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air. Shuts close his pinions to his breast (If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear), And drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
Pagina 63 - They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell. In secret we met: In silence I grieve That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee ?— With silence and tears.
Pagina 29 - Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup.
Pagina 304 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...