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         Baillie Joanna:     more books (100)
  1. Plays on the Passions (Broadview Literary Texts) by Joanna Baillie, 2001-02-19
  2. Six Gothic Dramas (De Monfort, Orra, The Dream, The Family Legend, The Phantom, Witchcraft) (Valancourt Classics) by Joanna Baillie, 2007-01-05
  3. Joanna Baillie and the Art of Moral Influence (Studies in Nineteenth-Century British Literature) by Christine A. Colón, 2009-08-01
  4. Joanna Baillie: A Selection of Poems and Plays (The Pickering Women's Classics) by Keith Hanley, Amanda Gilroy, et all 2002-05-15
  5. Poems, &c. (1790) - Wherein It Is Attempted To Describe Certain Views Of Nature And Of Rustic Manners; And Also, To Point Out, In Some Instances, The Different ... Produce On Different Characters by Joanna Baillie, 2010-07-12
  6. Further Letters of Joanna Baillie
  7. The Life and Work of Joanna Baillie by Carhart Margaret Sprague, 2009-07-10
  8. The Collected Letters of Joanna Baillie
  9. The Selected Poems of Joanna Baillie (1762-1851)
  10. Closet Stages: Joanna Baillie and the Theater Theory of British Romantic Women Writers by Catherine B. Burroughs, 1997-05
  11. Romantic Ideology Unmasked: The Mentally Constructed Tyrannies in Dramas of William Wordsworth, Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, and Joanna Baillie by Marjean D. Purinton, 1994-06
  12. Remarks On the General Tenour of the New Testament, Regarding the Nature and Dignity of Jesus Christ, Addressed to Mrs. Joanna Baillie [In Reply to a View ... Nature and Dignity of Jesus Christ.]. Appen by Thomas Burgess, Joanna Baillie, 2010-01-01
  13. Joanna Baillie, Romantic Dramatist: Critical Essays by Thomas C. Crochunis, 2004-02-23
  14. The complete poetical works of Joanna Baillie by Joanna Baillie, 2010-06-24

1. Baillie, Joanna : Authors Bab-Ban : Authors B - Mega Net
Read this poem by the female eighteenth and nineteenthcentury Romantic writer.
http://www.mega-net.net/entertainment/celebrities/writers/authors_a-z/authors_b/
Login Search Mega Net: Home Entertainment Celebrities Writers ... Authors Bab-Ban : Baillie, Joanna Read this poem by the female eighteenth and nineteenth-century Romantic writer. http://www.bartleby.com/101/510.html
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2. Poets > B > Baillie, Joanna
www.users.globalnet.co.uk/~crumey/joanna_baillie.html reviews
http://www.einet.net/directory/18029/Baillie_Joanna.htm

3. Baillie, Joanna; Bibliography By Subject
ISBNDB.COM Books search engine taking data from hundreds of libraries
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The number after the subject (topic or theme) tells how many books on this subject the author has. Please click on the subject to see books. Alternatively, you can see the alphabetically ordered bibliography of Baillie, Joanna English drama 19th century English drama 18th century Hunter, John,Mrs.,1742-1821 ... Contact ISBNdb.com

4. Joanna Baillie, South African Media Ltd: - ZoomInfo Business Information
Baillie, Joanna Young Vic Theatre Company Baillie, Joanna Oxford Journals Baillie, Joanne Norwood Fontbonne Academy
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5. Poems By Joanna Baillie - Literature - ELook.org
Links to a collection of poetry.
http://www.elook.org/literature/baillie/poems/
Poems
Literature by Joanna Baillie

6. Joanna Baillie - Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia
Baillie, Joanna Alternative names Short description Playwright, Poet Date of birth September 11, 1762 Place of birth Lanarkshire, Scotland Date of death
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joanna_Baillie
Joanna Baillie
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Jump to: navigation search Joanna Baillie
Engraving of Joanna Baillie by H. Robinson after a portrait by Sir William Newton Born 11 September 1762
Bothwell
Lanarkshire Scotland Died
Hampstead
England Occupation Playwright, Poet Nationality Scottish Period Notable work(s) Plays on the Passions Joanna Baillie (11 September 1762 – 23 February 1851) was a Scottish poet and dramatist. Baillie was very well-known during her lifetime and, though a woman, intended her plays not for the closet but for the stage. Admired both for her literary powers and her sweetness of disposition, she hosted a brilliant literary society in her cottage at Hampstead. Baillie died at the age of 88, her faculties remaining unimpaired to the last.
Contents
  • Biography Literary and dramatic works
    edit Biography
    Baillie was born in 1762. Her father, Rev. James Baillie (c.1722–1778), was a Presbyterian minister and briefly, during the two years before his death, a Professor of Divinity at the University of Glasgow . Her mother Dorothea Hunter (c.1721–1806) was a sister of the great physicians and anatomists

7. Corvey | Belles Lettres Catalogue
anon a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z General Women's Writing B Baillie, Joanna The Bride a Drama, in Three Acts. London Colburn, 1828. 1 vol x, 112p.
http://extra.shu.ac.uk/corvey/catalog/women/wb.html
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General Women's Writing: B
[Baillie, Joanna] The Bride: a Drama, in Three Acts London: Colburn, 1828. 1 vol: x, 112p. ISBN 3-628-53895-5 microfiche: 2 (Belser) [Baillie, Joanna] The Family Legend: a Tragedy 2nd ed. Edinburgh: Ballantyne , 1810. 1 vol: xii, 96p. ISBN 3-628-53854-8 microfiche: 2 (Belser) [Baillie, Joanna] The Martyr: A Drama, in Three Acts London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, 1826. 1 vol: xvii, 78p. ISBN 3-628-53921-8 microfiche: 2 (Belser) [Baillie, Joanna] Miscellaneous plays 2nd ed. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1805. 1 vol: xxiii, 438p. ISBN 3-628-53958-7 microfiche: 5 (Belser) Baillie, Marianne

8. Baillie, Joanna - Hutchinson Encyclopedia Article About Baillie
Scottish poet and dramatist. Her series of Plays on the Passions (1798–1836) are written with vigour and were admired by the novelist Walter Scott.
http://encyclopedia.farlex.com/Baillie, Joanna

9. Scran - Baillie [Joanna Baillie (1762 - 1851)]
Scran is a UK charity with a learning image service 300,000 images, clip art, movies and sounds from museums, galleries, archives and the media; thousands of learning packs; and
http://www.scran.ac.uk/000-000-000-557-L

10. Maid Of Llanwellynmp3 Midi Free Download Beach Motel Sechelt Bed Breakfast Mp3 M
Lyrics written by Baillie and published by George Thompson.
http://ingeb.org/songs/maidofll.html
Maid of Llanwellyn
Melody
Joanna Baillie 1. I've no sheep on the mountains
Nor boat on the lake
Nor coin in my coffer
To keep me awake
Nor corn in my garner,
Nor fruit on my tree
Yet the maid of Llanwellyn
Smiles sweetly on me. 2. Rich Owen will tell you,
With eyes full of scorn
Threadbare is my coat, And my hosen are torn Scoff on, my rich Owen, For faint is thy glee When the maid of Llanwellyn Smiles sweetly on me. 3. The farmer rides proudly To market and fair And the clerk at the ale house Still claims the great chair But of all our proud fellows The proudest I'll be While the maid of Llanwellyn Smiles sweetly on me. This song was published by George Thomson of Edinburgh, 1757-1851, who paid F. J. Haydn in Vienna, 2 ducats each, for some 200 tunes, to give old British Isles' folk tunes real class. He then got some more tunes from Beethoven, who quit, disgusted with the pay. "In her 'Maid of Llanwellyn', Miss Baillie's lyric spoke of the beautiful lakes in Wales. When Thomson objected, saying that Wales had no lakes, Miss Joanna Baillie haughtily answered that since lakes would not rise out of the earth for their convenience, and since she was unwilling to alter the line, they would just have to hope that their readers would be as ignorant as she had been when she wrote it." Deutsche Volkslieder Ahnenforschung Ferienaufenthalt Folksongs ... Email

11. Gluttony Quotes, Quotations
GLUTTONy quotes Baillie, Joanna. Some men are born to feast, and not to fight; whose sluggish minds, even in fair honor's field, still on their dinner turn.
http://www.quotationpark.com/topics/gluttony.html

12. Night Scenes Of Other Times A Poem, In Three Parts
Baillie s 1790 poem.
http://www.english.upenn.edu/~mgamer/Etexts/baillie.poem
JOANNA BAILLIE (1762-1851) From *Poems* (1790) Night Scenes of other Times: A Poem, in Three Parts Part I. "The wild winds bellow o'er my head, And spent eve's fading light; Where shall I find some friendly shed To screen me from the night? "Ah! round me lies a desert vast, No habitation near; And dark and pathless is the waste, And fills the mind with fear. "Thou distant tree, whose lonely top Has bent to many a storm, 10 No more canst thou deceive my hope, And take my lover's form; "For o'er thy head the dark cloud rolls, Black as thy blasted pride. How deep the angry tempest growls Along the mountain's side! "Securely rests the mountain deer Within his hollow den, His slumber undisturb'd by fear, Far from the haunts of men. 20 "Beneath the fern the moorcock sleeps, And twisted adders lie; Back to his rock the night-bird creeps, Nor gives his wonted cry. "For angry spirits of the night Ride in the troubled air, And to their dens, in wild affright, The beasts of prey repair. "But oh! my love! where do'st thou rest? What shelter covers thee? 30 O, May this cold and wint'ry blast But only beat on me! "Some friendly dwelling may'st thou find, Where, undisturbed with care, Thou shalt not feel the chilly wind That ruffles Marg'ret's hair. "Ah no! for thou did'st give thy word To meet me on the way; Nor friendly roof, nor coastly board Will tempt a lover's stay. 40 "O, raise thy voice, if thou art near! Its weakest sound were bliss: What other sound my heart can cheer In such a gloom as this? "But from the hills with stunning sound The dashing torrents fall; Loud is the raging tempest round, And mocks a lover's call. "Ha! see across the dreary waste A gentle form appears! 50 It is my love, my cares are past, How vain were all my fears?" The form approach'd, but sad and slow, Nor with a lover's tread; And from his cheek the youthful glow, And greeting smile was fled. Dim sadness hung upon his brow; Fix'd was his beamless eye: His face was like the moon-light bow Upon a wint'ry sky. 60 And fix'd and ghastly to the sight, His strengthen'd features rose; And bended was his graceful height, And bloody were his clothes. "O Marg'ret, calm thy troubled breast! Thy sorrow now is vain: Thy Edward from his peaceful rest Shall ne'er return again. "A treach'rous friend has brought me low, And fix'd my early doom; 70 And laid my corpse, with feigned woe, Beneath a vaulted tomb. "To take thee to my home I sware, And here we were to meet: Wilt thou a narrow coffin share, And part my winding sheet? "But late the lord of many lands, And now a grave is all: My blood is warm upon his hands Who revels in my hall. 80 "Yet think thy father's hoary hair Is water'd with his tears; He has but thee to soothe his care, And prop his load of years. "Remember Edward when he's gone, He only liv'd for thee; And when thou'rt pensive, and alone, O Marg'ret call on me! "Yet deep beneath the mould'ring clod I rest my wounded head; 90 And terrible that call, and loud, Which shall awake the dead." "No Edward, I will follow thee, And share thy hapless doom: Companions shall our spirits be, Tho' distant is thy tomb. "O! never to my father's tower Will I return again! A bleeding heart has little power To ease another's pain. 100 "Upon the wing my spirit flies, I feel my course is run; Nor shall these dim and weary eyes Behold to-morrow's sun." Like early dew, or hoary frost, Spent with the beaming day, So shrunk the pale and wat'ry ghost, And dimly wore away. No longer Marg'ret felt the storm, She bow'd her lovely head; 110 And with her lover's fleeting storm, Her gentle spirit fled. Part II "Loud roars the wind that shakes this wall; It is no common blast: Deep hollow sounds pass thro' my hall, O would the night were past! "Methinks the daemons of the air Upon the turrets growl; While down the empty winding stair Their deep'ning murmurs roll. 120 "The glimm'ring fire cheers not the gloom: How blue its weakly ray! And like a taper in a tomb, But spreads the more dismay. "Athwart its melancholy light The lengthen'd shadow falls: My grandsires, to my troubled sight, Low'r on me from these walls. "Methinks yon angry warrior's head Doth in the casement frown, 130 And darts a look, as if it said, Where hast thou laid my son? "But will these fancies never cease? O, would the night were run! My troubled soul can find no peace, But with the morning sun. "Vain hope! the guilty never rest; Dismay is always near: There is a midnight in the breast No morn shall ever cheer. 140 "The weary hind is now at rest, Tho lowly is his head, How sweetly lies the guiltless breast, Upon the hardest bed! "The beggar, in his wretched haunt, May now a monarch be: Forget his woe, forget his want, For all can sleep but me. "I've dar'd whate'er the boldest can, Then why this childish dread; 150 I never fear'd a living man, And shall I fear the dead! "No, whistling storms may shake my tower, And passing spirits scream: Their shadowy arms are void of power, And but a gloomy dream. "But lo! a form advancing slow Across my dusky hall! Art thou a friend? art thou a foe? O, answer to my call!" 160 Still, nearer to the glimm'ring light The tow'ring figure strode, Till full, and horrid to the sight, The murther'd Edward stood. His hand a broken dagger sway'd, Like Time's dark threat'ning dart; And pointed to the rugged blade That quiver'd in his heart. The blood still trickled from his head, And clotted was his hair, 170 That on his manly shoulders spread; His mangled breast was bare. His face was like the muddy sky Before the coming snow; And dark and dreadful was his eye, And cloudy was his brow. Pale Conrad shrunk, but grasp'd his sword; Fear thrill'd in every vein; His quiv'ring lip half-spoke its word; He paus'd, and shrunk again. 180 "Pale bloody spectre, at this hour Why dost thou haunt the night? Has the deep gloomy vault no power To keep thee from my sight? Why do'st thou glare? Why do'st thou wave That fatal cursed knife? Thee deed is done, and from the grave Who can recall to life? "Why rolls thine eye beneath thy brow, Dark as the midnight storm? 190 What do'st thou want? O, let me know! But hide thy dreadful form. "I'd give the life's blood from my heart To wash my crime away: If thou'rt spirit, O, depart! Nor haunt a wretch of clay. "Say, do'st thou with the blessed dwell? Return and blessed be! Or com'st thou from the lowest hell? I am more curst than thee." 200 The form advanc'd with solemn step, As though it meant to speak; And thrice it mov'd its mutt'ring lip, But silence did not break. Then sternly stalk'd with heavy pace, Which shook the trembling wall; And, frowning, turn'd his angry face, And vanish'd from the hall. With fixed eyes, pale Conrad stood, That from their sockets swell; 210 Back on his heart ran the cold blood, He shudder'd as he fell. Night fled, and thro' the window 'gan The early light to play; But on a more unhappy man Ne'er shone the dawning day. The gladsome sun all nature cheers, But cannot charm his cares: Still dwells his mind with gloomy fears, And murther'd Edward glares. 220 Part III. "No rest nor comfort can I find, I watch the midnight hour; I sit and listen to the wind Which beats upon my tower. "Methinks low voices from the ground Break mournful on mine ear, And thro' these empty chambers sound So dismal and so drear. "The ghost of some departed friend Doth in my sorrows share; 230 Or is it but the rushing wind That mocketh my despair. "Sad thro' the hall the pale lamp gleams Upon my father's arms: My soul is fill'd with gloomy dreams, I fear unknown alarms. "Oh! I have known this lonely place With ev'ry blessing stor'd; And many a friend with cheerful face Sit smiling at my board, 240 "Whilst round the fire, in early bloom, My harmless children play'd, Who now within the narrow tomb Are with their mother laid. "And now low bends my wretched head, And those I lov'd are gone: My friends, my family, all are fled, And I am left alone. "Oft' as the cheerless fire declines, In it I sadly trace, 250 As 'lone I sit, the half form'd lines Of many of much lov'd face. "But chief, O Marg'ret! to my mind Thy lovely features rise: I strive to think thee less unkind, And wipe my streaming eyes. "For only thee I had to vaunt, Thou wert thy mother's pride: She left thee like a shooting plant To screen my widow'd side. 260 "But thou hast left me weak, forlorn, And chill'd with age's frost, To count my weary days, and mourn The comforts I have lost. "Unkindly fair! why didst thou go? O, had I known the truth! Tho' Edward's father was my foe, I would have bless'd the youth. "O could I see that face again, Whose smile calm'd ev'ry strife! 270 And hear that voice, which sooth'd my pain, And made me wish for life! "Thy harp hangs silent by the wall: My nights are sad and long: And thou art in a distant hall, Where strangers raise the song. "Ha! some delusion of the mind My senses doth confound! It was the harp, and not the wind, That did so sweetly sound." 280 Old Arno rose, all wan as death, With broken steps of care; And oft' he check'd his quick-heav'd breath, And turn'd his eager ear. When like a full, but distant choir The swelling sound return'd And with the soft and trembling wire, The sighing echoes mourn'd Then softly whisper'd o'er the song Which Marg'ret lov'd to play, 290 Like some sweet dirge, and sad, and long, It faintly died away. His dim-worn eyes to heav'n he cast, Where all his griefs were known; And smote upon his troubled breast, And heav'd a heavy groan. "I know it is my daughter's hand, But 'tis no hand of clay: And here a lonely wretch I stand, All childless, bent, and grey. 300 "And art thou low, my lovely child? And hast thou met thy doom? And has thy flatt'ring morning smil'd, To lead but to the tomb? O let me see thee ere we part, For souls like thine are blest; O let me fold thee to my heart If aught of form thou hast. "This passing mist enrobes thy charms: Alas, to nought 'tis shrunk! 310 And hollow strike my empty arms Against my aged trunk. "Thou'rt fled like the low ev'ning breath That sighs upon the hill: O stay! tho' in thy weeds of death, Thou art my daughter still." Loud wak'd the sound, then fainter grew, And long and sadly mourn'd; And softly sigh'd a long adieu, And never more return'd. 320 Old Arno stretch'd him on the ground, Thick as the gloom of night, Death's misty shadows gather'd round, And swam before his sight. He heav'd a deep and deadly groan, Which rent his lab'ring breast; And long before the morning shone, His spirit was at rest. 1790

13. BAILLIE, Joanna. Plaque
Information about the BAILLIE, Joanna. sight and the area for visitors and tourist.
http://www.juerg.ch/london/blue/bailliejoannaboltonhousewindmillhillcamden.shtml

14. Digital.lib.ucdavis.edu
The Family Legend a Tragedy. Baillie, Joanna, 17621851 Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme London, 1810 This text was scanned from its original
http://digital.lib.ucdavis.edu/projects/bwrp/Works/BailJFamil.htm
British Women Romantic Poets Project
The Family Legend: a Tragedy.
Baillie, Joanna, 1762-1851
Rianna Au, creation of electronic text.
Electronic edition 182Kb
British Women Romantic Poets Project
Shields Library, University of California, Davis, California 95616
I.D. No. BailJFamil
This edition is the property of the editors. It may be copied freely by individuals for personal use, research, and teaching (including distribution to classes) as long as this statement of availability is included in the text. It may be linked to by internet editions of all kinds. Scholars interested in changing or adding to these texts by, for example, creating a new edition of the text (electronically or in print) with substantive editorial changes, may do so with the permission of the publisher. This is the case whether the new publication will be made available at a cost or free of charge. This text may not be not be reproduced as a commercial or non-profit product, in print or from an information server. Available at: http://www.lib.ucdavis.edu/English/BWRP/Works/BailJFamil.sgm

15. 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Baillie, Joanna - Wikisource
B AILLIE, J OANNA (17621851), British poet and dramatist, was born at the manse of Bothwell, on the banks of the Clyde, on the 11th of September 1762.
http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/1911_Encyclopædia_Britannica/Baillie,_Joanna

16. Baillie, Joanna
Poems by Joanna Baillie Literature - eLook.org Literature by Joanna Baillie. Prelude To the Rainbow The Lot of Thousands Address to the Evening Primrose Sonnet
http://utenti.multimania.it/remayfuy/text/directory/baillie-joanna.htm

17. Joanna Baillie (Baillie, Joanna, 1762-1851) | The Online Books Page
Online Books by. Joanna Baillie (Baillie, Joanna, 17621851) An online book about this author is available. Baillie, Joanna, 1762-1851 A Collection of Poems, Chiefly Manuscript, and
http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/webbin/book/lookupname?key=Baillie, Joanna,

18. Baillie, Joanna (DNB00) - Wikisource
BAILLIE, JOANNA (17621851), dramatist and poet, was descended from an ancient Scotch family. She was born at the manse of Bothwell, Lanarkshire, 11 Sept. 1762.
http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Baillie,_Joanna_(DNB00)

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20. Metaphors.lib.virginia.edu
Pleasing scenes may remain in the bosom, like moons who do their watches run with the reflected brightness of the sun — Baillie, Joanna (17621851)
http://metaphors.lib.virginia.edu/metaphors/15267
Pleasing scenes may remain in the bosom, like "moons who do their watches run with the reflected brightness of the sun" Author
Baillie, Joanna (1762-1851)
Work Title
An Address to the Muses
Date Metaphor Pleasing scenes may remain in the bosom, like "moons who do their watches run with the reflected brightness of the sun" Metaphor in Context YE are the spirits who preside
In earth and air and ocean wide;
In hissing flood and crackling fire;
In horror dread and tumult dire;
In stilly calm and stormy wind,
And rule the answering changes in the human mind.
High on the tempest-beaten hill,
Your misty shapes ye shift at will;
The wild fantastic clouds yet form;
Your voice is in the midnight storm, Whilst in the dark and lonely hour, Oft starts the boldest heart, and owns your secret power. From you, when growling storms are past, And lighting ceases on the waste, And when the scene of blood is o'er, And groans of death are heard no more, Still holds the mind each parted form, Like the after-echoing of th' o'erpassed storm.

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