The North Lonsdale Magazine and Lake District Miscellany

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Page 280 - are Yarrow's holms, And sweet is Yarrow flowing! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path, and open Strath, We'll wander Scotland thorough; But, though so near, we will not turn Into the dale of Yarrow. "Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St.
Page 199 - The End of our Foundation is the knowledge of Causes, and secret motions of things'; and the enlarging of the bounds of Human Empire, to the effecting of all things possible.
Page 282 - Twere no offence to reason ; The sober hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. I see, but not by sight alone, Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; A ray of fancy still survives, Her sunshine plays upon thee ! Thy ever-youthful waters keep A course of lively pleasure ; And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, Accordant to the measure. The vapours linger round the heights...
Page 201 - THE prolongation of life. The restitution of youth in some degree. The retardation of age. The curing of diseases counted incurable.
Page 157 - But thus you see we maintain a trade, not for gold, silver, or jewels, nor for silks, nor for spices, nor any other commodity of matter; but only for God's first creature, which was light: to have light, I say, of the growth of all parts of the world.
Page 280 - Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown, It must, or we shall rue it, We have a vision of our own, Ah ! why should we undo it ? The treasured dreams of times long past, We'll keep them, ' winsome Marrow,' For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow.
Page 285 - He bleeding lies on Yarrow." As she sped down yon high, high hill, She gaed wi' dole and sorrow. And in the den spied ten slain men, On the dowie banks of Yarrow. She kissed his...
Page 175 - His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral, were but a wand.
Page 164 - Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep: Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep.
Page 282 - AND is this — Yarrow ? — This the Stream Of which my fancy cherished, So faithfully, a waking dream ? An image that hath perished ! O that some Minstrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness...

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