The Royal Minstrel: Or, Melodist's Pocket Songster; a Choice Collection of Standard and Popular SongsJ.S. Pratt, 1844 - Всего страниц: 320 |
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Стр. 11
... town bred fair 127 Ah ! tell me ye swains 128 The hour is come that we must part 129 From the white blossom'd sloe ib . When first I saw Flora 130 When Phoebus wakes A woman loves the ruffled sea Primroses deck the bank . 131 Let others ...
... town bred fair 127 Ah ! tell me ye swains 128 The hour is come that we must part 129 From the white blossom'd sloe ib . When first I saw Flora 130 When Phoebus wakes A woman loves the ruffled sea Primroses deck the bank . 131 Let others ...
Стр. 13
... . 183 Had I a heart for falsehood framed 185 Ye banks and braes .. ib . Mr. Peter Snout was invited out Adieu , adieu , my only life Oh ! twine a wreath of evergreen 186 188 190 * Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town He was CONTENTS . 13.
... . 183 Had I a heart for falsehood framed 185 Ye banks and braes .. ib . Mr. Peter Snout was invited out Adieu , adieu , my only life Oh ! twine a wreath of evergreen 186 188 190 * Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town He was CONTENTS . 13.
Стр. 14
... town He was famed for deeds of arms PAGR 190 iba When the forehead of Phoebus .. 191 Of wine , of rosy wine around .. 192 Ye winds and ye waves .. : ib . The women all tell me I'm false 193 0 : 0 There lived a man in Balenocrazy 195 ...
... town He was famed for deeds of arms PAGR 190 iba When the forehead of Phoebus .. 191 Of wine , of rosy wine around .. 192 Ye winds and ye waves .. : ib . The women all tell me I'm false 193 0 : 0 There lived a man in Balenocrazy 195 ...
Стр. 15
... town , what a wonderful ib . Dear Erin , how sweetly 232 Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen 233 When the drums beat to arms 234 Give me my good plough 235 .. Far from his native mountains 237 Her mouth with a smile ib . My darling ...
... town , what a wonderful ib . Dear Erin , how sweetly 232 Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen 233 When the drums beat to arms 234 Give me my good plough 235 .. Far from his native mountains 237 Her mouth with a smile ib . My darling ...
Стр. 79
... town , and upon it put a steeple ; His mother was a Callaghan , his father was a Brady , His sister was an O'Huolin , and his brother an O'Grady . CHORUS - Noh ! noh ! noh ! noh ! Success attend St. Patrick's fist , for he's the da ...
... town , and upon it put a steeple ; His mother was a Callaghan , his father was a Brady , His sister was an O'Huolin , and his brother an O'Grady . CHORUS - Noh ! noh ! noh ! noh ! Success attend St. Patrick's fist , for he's the da ...
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The Royal Minstrel: Or, Melodist's Pocket Songster: a Choice Collection of ... Полный просмотр - 1848 |
Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
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
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Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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!
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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...