The Eagle, Volume 19

Front Cover
W. Metcalfe, 1897
 

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Page 348 - Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone, Each spring its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
Page 364 - Guid faith he mauna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than, a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Page 350 - The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; The monarch may forget the crown ' That on his head an hour has been ; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me ! " LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITEFORD, BART.
Page 35 - HE clasps the crag with crooked hands ; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls ; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Page 356 - 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...
Page 359 - 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...
Page 486 - Avaunt ! and quit my sight. Let the earth hide thee ! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes, Which thou dost glare with.
Page 357 - Let him follow me! By Oppression's woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die...
Page 364 - The coward-slave, we pass him by We dare be poor for a
Page 488 - Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die, Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh, A melancholy slave ; But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave.

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