Nerve thy soul with doctrines nobl… Noble in the walks of time, Time that leads to an eternal, An eternal life sublime. Life sublime in moral beauty,
(From The Point of View, U.S.,… “THE LOVE I bear you, dearest, Would make the sweetest tale, We’d sail upon a sea of bliss, And I would lift the sail.
He. BE it right or wrong, these m… On women do complain; Affirming this, how that it is A labour spent in vain To love them wele; for never a del…
YET if His Majesty, our sovereig… Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say 'I’ll be your guest to-mo… How should we stir ourselves, call…
IT fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and c… Said Edom o’ Gordon to his men, 'We maun draw to a hauld. ‘And what a hauld sall we draw to,
Please God, forsake your water an… And fling the bitter cress you eat… Put by your rosary. In Mary’s nam… To mildewing monks in Rome. Spring’s at work in gardens bright…
An old man going a lone highway, Came, at the evening cold and gray… To a chasm vast and deep and wide, The old man crossed in the twiligh… The sullen stream had no fear for…
The time when first I fell in lov… Which now I must lament; The year wherein I lost such time To compass my content. The day wherein I saw too late
BALOW, my babe, lie still and sl… It grieves me sore to see thee wee… Wouldst thou be quiet I’se be gla… Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad: Balow my boy, thy mother’s joy,
Lysteneth, lordinges, gente and fr… Ich wille you telle of Sire Degar… Knightes that were sometyme in lon… Ferli fele wolde fonde And sechen aventures bi night and…
My friend iudge not me, Thou seest I iudge not thee: Betwixt the stirrop and the ground… Mercy I askt, mercy I found.
O WHAT a plague is love! How shall I bear it? She will inconstant prove, I greatly fear it. She so torments my mind
As I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t’other say, “Where sall we gang and dine to-da… “—In behint yon auld fail dyke,
O Death, O Death, rock me asleep… Bring me to quiet rest; Let pass my weary guiltless ghost Out of my careful breast. Toll on, thou passing bell;
God, that art of myghtis most, Fader and Sone and Holy Gost, That bought man on Rode so dere, Shilde us from the fowle fende, That is about mannys sowle to shen…