United States or Bouvet Island ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The Laird o' Tamlowrie and Sir Gilbert Grizzlecleuch, and Auld Rossballoh, and the Bailie, were just setting in to make an afternoon o't, and you, wi' some o' your auld-warld stories, that the mind o' man canna resist, whirl'd them to the back o' beyont to look at the auld Roman camp Ah, sir!" turning to Lovel, "he wad wile the bird aff the tree wi' the tales he tells about folk lang syne and did not I lose the drinking o' sax pints o' gude claret, for the deil ane wad hae stirred till he had seen that out at the least?"
But distant winds began to wake, And roused the Genius of the Lake! He heard the groaning of the oak, And donn'd at once his sable cloak, As warrior, at the battle-cry, Invests him with his panoply: Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd He 'gan to shake his foamy crest O'er furrow'd brow and blacken'd cheek, And bade his surge in thunder speak. In wild and broken eddies whirl'd.
The Laird o' Tamlowrie and Sir Gilbert Grizzlecleuch, and Auld Rossballoh, and the Bailie, were just setting in to make an afternoon o't, and you, wi' some o' your auld-warld stories, that the mind o' man canna resist, whirl'd them to the back o' beyont to look at the auld Roman camp Ah, sir!" turning to Lovel, "he wad wile the bird aff the tree wi' the tales he tells about folk lang syne and did not I lose the drinking o' sax pints o' gude claret, for the deil ane wad hae stirred till he had seen that out at the least?"
The constables hae been here, woman, and they met wi' my minnie at the door, and they whirl'd her awa to the Justice's about the man's wheat. Dear! thae English churls think as muckle about a blade of wheat or grass, as a Scotch laird does about his maukins and his muir-poots.
It is not 'mid the busy scenes of life, Where careworn mortals crowd along the way That leads to gain shunning the light of day; In endless eddies whirl'd, where pain and strife Distract the soul, and spread the shades of night, Where love divine should dwell in purest light.
And mine in this was wound, and whirl'd About empyreal heights of thought, And came on that which is, and caught The deep pulsations of the world, AEonian music measuring out The steps of Time the shocks of Chance The blows of Death. At length my trance Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.
On the summit a glance show'd us all the wild crimson'd sky the sea running with lines of fire and against it the inky headland whereon the House of Gleys flar'd like a beacon. Already from one wing our wing a leaping column of flame whirl'd up through the roof, and was swept seaward in smoke and sparks.
It rises! its wings interweave With the flames how they howl and heave! Toss'd, whirl'd to and fro, How the flame-serpents glow! Rushing higher and higher, On on, fearful Fire! Thy giant limbs twined With the arms of the Wind! Lo! the elements meet on the throne Of death to reclaim their own! Swing, swing the censer round Tune the strings to a softer sound!
Their downy feathers, the air whirl'd about: The other, the sea vainly tost too and fro.
O'er hills, dales, and rocks, Away be it whirl'd Till the silvery locks Are all comb'd and curl'd! Then the wind came and blew away his hat; and off it flew a great way, over the hills and far away, so that he had to run after it; and when he came back she had bound up her hair again, and all was safe. So they watched the geese till it grew dark.
Word Of The Day