The book of British ballads . er than the sun. Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me, My helpmate in the woods to be, Our shed at night to rear; Or run, my own adopted Bride, A sylvan Huntress at my side, And drive the flying deer! Beloved Ruth ! — No more he wakeful Ruth at midnight shedA solitary tear: She thought again — and did agreeWith him to sail across the sea,And drive the flying deer. And now, as fitting is and right, We in the Church our faith will plight, A Husband and a Wife. Even so they did; and I may say That to sweet Ruth that happy day Was more than human life. Throu
The book of British ballads . er than the sun. Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me, My helpmate in the woods to be, Our shed at night to rear; Or run, my own adopted Bride, A sylvan Huntress at my side, And drive the flying deer! Beloved Ruth ! — No more he wakeful Ruth at midnight shedA solitary tear: She thought again — and did agreeWith him to sail across the sea,And drive the flying deer. And now, as fitting is and right, We in the Church our faith will plight, A Husband and a Wife. Even so they did; and I may say That to sweet Ruth that happy day Was more than human life. Through dream and vision did she sink,Delighted all the while to thinkThat on those lonesome floods,And green savannahs, she should shareHis board with lawful joy, and bearHis name in the wild woods. But, as you have before been told,This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold,And with his dancing crestSo beautiful, through savage landsHad roamd about, with vagrant bandsOf Indians in the West. W. B. Scott del. W. J, Linton sc. 318. The wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a tropic sky, Might well be dangerous food For him, a Youth to whom was given So much of earth — so much of Heaven, And such impetuous blood. Whatever in those Climes he found Irregular in sight or sound Did to his mind impart A kindred impulse, seemd allied To his own powers, and justified The workings of his heart. Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought,The beauteous forms of nature wrought,Fair trees and lovely flowers;The breezes their own languor lent;The stars had feelings, which they sentInto those gorgeous bowers. Yet, in his worst pursuits, I weenThat sometimes there did intervenePure hopes of high intent;For passions linkd to forms so fair,And stately, needs must have their shareOf noble sentiment. But ill he lived, much evil saw,With men to whom no better lawNor better life was known ;Deliberately, and undeceived,Those wild mens vices he received,And gave them back his own. His genius and his mo
Size: 1013px × 2467px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1840, bookidg, bookpublisherlondonjhow
