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Updated: May 20, 2025
And there by the side of the spring was a little turf-built hut, hardly to be known from the shelving bank against which it leant, and to that the earl led us. "Now," he said, "tie the horses somewhere, and we will go and speak with the Wise Woman." At that Relf was not pleased, as it seemed, for he did not dismount.
There, only by their glorious deeds Our chiefs and gallant bands are known; There, often have they met their foes, And victory was all their own: There, hostile ranks, at our approach, Prostrate beneath our feet shall bow; There, smiling conquest waits to twine A laurel wreath round every brow. Adieu, my pretty turf-built hut * Adieu, my little garden, too!
There, only by their glorious deeds Our chiefs and gallant bands are known; There, often have they met their foes, And victory was all their own: There, hostile ranks, at our approach, Prostrate beneath our feet shall bow; There, smiling conquest waits to twine A laurel wreath round every brow. Adieu, my pretty turf-built hut * Adieu, my little garden, too!
The brothers had not long to search before they came upon her, where she sat on the ground at the door of the turf-built cottage, feeding a chicken with oatmeal paste. "What are you doin', Dawtie?" they asked. "I'm tryin'," she answered, without looking up, "to haud the life i' the chuckie." "What's the matter wi' 't?" "Naething but the want o' a mither." "Is the mither o' 't deid?"
At last, visibly unquiet, he betook himself up through the wood to the edge of an old turf-built fold where in summer the cows were wont to be milked. Here he occupied himself with the priming of his gun and looked to his pistols. An undefined glimmer from the sky and the absence of trees on the heathery slopes enabled him to dispense with other light.
There, only by their glorious deeds Our chiefs and gallant bands are known; There, often have they met their foes, And victory was all their own: There, hostile ranks, at our approach, Prostrate beneath our feet shall bow; There, smiling conquest waits to twine A laurel wreath round every brow. Adieu, my pretty turf-built hut * Adieu, my little garden, too!
There, only by their glorious deeds Our chiefs and gallant bands are known; There, often have they met their foes, And victory was all their own: There, hostile ranks, at our approach, Prostrate beneath our feet shall bow; There, smiling conquest waits to twine A laurel wreath round every brow. Adieu, my pretty turf-built hut * Adieu, my little garden, too!
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