Selections from the Writings of Mrs. Margaret M. Davidson, the Mother of Lucretia Maria and Margaret M. DavidsonLea & Blanchard, 1843 - 272 sider |
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Side 80
... thou art , and restoring thy children to thee . " A hasty summons to the wagon called this kind benevo- lent woman away . She saw Mrs. Stanley was firm , and ceased her importunity ; they parted - and never met again . CHAPTER X. MRS ...
... thou art , and restoring thy children to thee . " A hasty summons to the wagon called this kind benevo- lent woman away . She saw Mrs. Stanley was firm , and ceased her importunity ; they parted - and never met again . CHAPTER X. MRS ...
Side 82
... thou bear to see these children murdered and mangled before thine eyes ... thou wilt listen to reason , Margaret ; true , it is hard to leave thy ... thou art trusting to poor security ; do , I beg of thee , go ! " " Entreat ...
... thou bear to see these children murdered and mangled before thine eyes ... thou wilt listen to reason , Margaret ; true , it is hard to leave thy ... thou art trusting to poor security ; do , I beg of thee , go ! " " Entreat ...
Side 106
... Thy labour to allow . " When thou art weary with thy toil , Here's water to revive Thy fainting heart , yet all too young With the cold world to strive . " The princess lowly bowed her head , And kneeling at his feet , With the pure ...
... Thy labour to allow . " When thou art weary with thy toil , Here's water to revive Thy fainting heart , yet all too young With the cold world to strive . " The princess lowly bowed her head , And kneeling at his feet , With the pure ...
Side 110
... art thou ? on what errand bent ? " " Behold , ' tis Ruth ! " she cried : " Protect me , kinsman ! for alone In this wide world I bide . " Oh ! shield me from the storms of life , Thy mantle o'er me spread ; My husband was thy kinsman ...
... art thou ? on what errand bent ? " " Behold , ' tis Ruth ! " she cried : " Protect me , kinsman ! for alone In this wide world I bide . " Oh ! shield me from the storms of life , Thy mantle o'er me spread ; My husband was thy kinsman ...
Side 130
... Thou art gone from among us , so lovely and fair . No more shall the sound of thy lyre , Through our halls sweetly ... thou flown ? To what region of light , and of peace ? To what brilliant planet - say — where is thy home ? And where do thy ...
... Thou art gone from among us , so lovely and fair . No more shall the sound of thy lyre , Through our halls sweetly ... thou flown ? To what region of light , and of peace ? To what brilliant planet - say — where is thy home ? And where do thy ...
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arms art thou bards battle beam beautiful blessings blood bosom bound brave breast bright brow Cairbar Calmar Carril chief cloud Connal cried Cromla's Cuthullin dark daughter dear death echoing enemy Erin Erin's eyes fair fame father fear feast feeble fight Fillan Fingal flowing tears Gaul grief hall hand hast hath heart heaven hero's heroes hill Horace Walpole husband king king of swords Lena's heath light Lochlin's lonely Lord loud maid mamma Margaret mighty Morna morning Morven's mother mournful neath night noble o'er Orpah Oscar Ossian pale peace Peru plain Plattsburgh Polly pride raise replied rise roaring rock roll Ruth Ryno scene shield side silent song sons soul sound spear spirit Stanley Starno's storm stream Swaran sweet sword tears thee thine thou tomb trembling Tura's Ullin valiant voice Volumes wagons warriors WASHINGTON IRVING waves wind young youth
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Side 152 - Saviour, who is Christ the Lord ; And this shall be the sign : The heavenly Babe you there shall find To human view displayed, All meanly wrapt in swathing bands, And in a manger laid.
Side 256 - ... promise of never returning to Ireland, in a hostile manner. The night is spent in settling Swaran's departure, in songs of bards, and in a conversation in which the story of Grumal is introduced by Fingal, Morning comes. Swaran departs ; Fingal goes on a hunting party, and finding Cuthullin in the cave of Tura, comforts him, and sets sail, the next day, for Scotland ; which concludes the poem.
Side 230 - Raise, Oscar, rather raise my tomb. I will not yield the war to thee. The first and bloodiest in the strife, my arm shall teach thee how to fight. But remember, my son, to place this sword, this bow, the horn of my deer, within that dark and narrow house, whose mark is one grey stone ! Oscar, I have no love to leave to the care of my son.