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Quotes about will ogilvie

The Bonnie House o' Airlie

IT fell on a day, and a bonnie simmer day,
   When green grew aits and barley,
That there fell out a great dispute
   Between Argyll and Airlie.

Argyll has raised an hunder men,
   An hunder harness'd rarely,
And he 's awa' by the back of Dunkell,
   To plunder the castle of Airlie.

Lady Ogilvie looks o'er her bower-window,
   And O but she looks warely!
And there she spied the great Argyll,
   Come to plunder the bonnie house of Airlie.

'Come down, come down, my Lady Ogilvie,
   Come down and kiss me fairly:'
'O I winna kiss the fause Argyll,
   If he shouldna leave a standing stane in Airlie.'

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His Gippsland Girl

Now, money was scarce and work was slack
And love to his heart Crept in,
And he rode away on the Northern track
To war with the world and win;
And he vowed by the locket upon his breast
And its treasure, one red gold curl,
To work with with a will in the fartherest West
For the sake of his Gippsland girl.

The hot wind blows on the dusty plain
And the red sun burns above,
But he sees her face at his side again,
And he strikes each blow for love.
He toils by the light of one far-off star
For the winning of one white pearl,
And the swinging pick and the driving bar
Strike home for the Gippsland girl.

With an aching wrist and a back that's bent,
With salt sweat blinding eyes,

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The best ideas come from jokes. Make your thinking as funny as possible.

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The Shadow On The Blind

Last night I walked among the lamps that gleamed,
And saw a shadow on a window blind,
A moving shadow; and the picture seemed
To call some scene to mind.

I looked again; a dark form to and fro
Swayed softly as to music full of rest,
Bent low, bent lower: - Still I did not know.
And then, at last, I guessed.

And through the night came all old memories flocking,
White memories like the snowflakes round me whirled.
'All's well!' I said; 'The mothers still sit rocking
The cradles of the world!'

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Running On!

The dusk is down on the river meadows,
The moon is climbing above the fir,
The lane is crowded with creeping shadows,
The gorse is only a distant blur;
The last of the light is almost gone,
But hark! They're running!
They're running on !
The count of the years is steadily growing;
The Old give way to the eager Young;
Far on the hill is the horn still blowing,
Far on the steep are the hounds still strung.
Good men follow the good men gone;
And hark! They're running!
They're running on!

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Wind O' The Autumn

I love you, wind o' the Autumn, that came from I know not where,
To lead me out of the toiling world to a ballroom fresh and fair,
Where the poplars tall and golden and the beeches rosy and red
Are setting to woodland partners and dancing the stars to bed!

Oh! say, wild wind o' the Autumn, may I dance this dance with you
Decked out in your gown of moonmist and jewelled with drops of dew?
For I know no waiting lover with arms that so softly twine,
And I know no dancing partner whose step is so made for mine!

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Colour

There's colour in the woodlands as far as eye can reach,
Pale gold upon the elm-tree and bronze upon the beech;
To witch the world with beauty a hundred hues ally -
But bonniest is the scarlet when a Whip rides by.
On towers of brown and crimson, on roofs of royal gold
The banners of the autumn their splendid tints unfold,
And no one will their wonder, their magic lure deny -
Yet dearer is the scarlet when a Whip rides by.
Ah! Bright September woodlands, your magic only means
That summer’s life is ebbing on the bed your beauty screens;
Not all your painted pennons on all your towers so high
Can match one patch of scarlet when a whip rides by!

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The Men of the Open Spaces

These are the men with the sun-tanned faces
and the keen far-sighted eyes-
the men of the open spaces,
and the land where the mirage lies.

The men who have learnt to master
the forces of fire and drought
and the demon Flood's disaster
in the fields of furthest out.

The men who have stood together
and shared in the fight with fate
and known the strength of the tether
that holds a mate to his mate.

Who ride with a gallant bearing
where every saddle's a throne,
and each is an emperor sharing
an empire enough for his own.

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A Little Bit of Garden

We need no crown or sceptre,
for now that it is spring,
just a little bit of garden-
and every man's a king!

A little breadth of border,
a little patch of grass,
above it all the April sky
where soft the south winds pass.

A spade and rake for comrades,
the smell of rain-wet mould,-
and every time we turn a clod
we turn a mint of gold.

A little bit of garden,
with daffodils a-swing,
and tulip-flowers whose crimson flags
are only flown for spring.

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If I Were Old

If I were old, a broken man and blind,
and one should lead me to Mid-Eildon's crest,
and leave me there a little time to rest
sharing the hilltop with the Border wind,
the whispering heather, and the curlew's cry,
I know the blind dark could not be so deep,
so cruel and clinging, but that I
should see the sunlit curve of Cheviot's steep
rise blue and friendly on the distant sky!

There is no darkness - God! there cannot be -
so heavy as to curtain from my sight
the beauty of those Border slopes that lie
far south before me, and a love-found light
would shine upon the slow Tweed loitering by
with gift of song and silver to the sea!-
No dark can ever hide this dear loved land from me

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