The Text.--This ballad was one of two transcribed from the now lost Tytler-Brown MS., and the transcript is given here. A considerable portion of the story is lost between stanzas 6 and 7.
The Text is given in full from Herd's MSS., where it concludes with a version of Sweet William's Ghost; and the last three stanzas, 42-44, are from Scott's later version of the ballad (1833) from recitation. Child divides the b...
Of sweethearts I have had a score, And time may bring as many more; Tho' I remember all the rest, Just now I worship dear C'leste; Hers may not be the greatest love, But ah! it is the latest love. ...
As clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling, Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling, He stopt at the George for a bottle of sack, And promised to pay for it when he came back....
This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts of youth, And heard the words that one by one The touch of Life has turned to truth. Here in a day that is not far,...
When frost's all on our winder, an' the snow's All out-o'-doors, our "Old-Kriss"-milkman goes A-drivin' round, ist purt'-nigh froze to death, With his old white mustache froze full o' breath. ...
Who climbs the mountain does not always climb. The winding road slants downward many a time; Yet each descent is higher than the last. Has thy path fallen? That will soon be past....
When you see a man come walking down through George Street loose and free, Suit of saddle tweed and soft shirt, and a belt and cabbagetree, With the careless swing and carriage, and the confidence you lack,...
[NOTE. - The following lines were written to celebrate the 'bump' by which the Lady Margaret 1st Boat became "Head of the River" in 1871. On the next evening Professor Selwyn delighted the eyes and the hearts of all Johnians by...
Pausing to see light thru chinks the corner door battered barn floor musty webs and pebbled face expect shadows from flecked dust, yet damsel flies with doily edge blanket the air...
In the dark womb where I began My mother's life made me a man. Through all the months of human birth Her beauty fed my common earth. I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir,...
In the cowslip pips I lie, Hidden from the buzzing fly, While green grass beneath me lies, Pearled with dew like fishes' eyes, Here I lie, a clock-a-clay, Waiting for the time of day. ...
Forbear to ask Me, why I weep; Vext Cloe to her Shepherd said: 'Tis for my Two poor stragling Sheep Perhaps, or for my Squirrel dead. For mind I what You late have writ?...
Within these long gray shadows many dead Lie waiting: we wait with them. Do you believe That at the last the threadbare soul will give All his shifts over, and stand dishevell'd,...
So near at hand (our eyes o'erlooked its nearness In search of distant things) A dear dream lay - perchance to grow in dearness Had we but felt its wings Astir. The air our very breathing fanned...