The Poetical Works of Sir Walter ScottA. and W. Galignani, 1831 - 490 sider |
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Side xxxii
... steed , who rushes forward on the steel that wounds him . In the most painful crisis of his private life , he evinced this irritabi- lity and impatience of censure in such a degree , as almost to resemble the noble victim of the bull ...
... steed , who rushes forward on the steel that wounds him . In the most painful crisis of his private life , he evinced this irritabi- lity and impatience of censure in such a degree , as almost to resemble the noble victim of the bull ...
Side 4
... steed ; Spare not to spur , nor stint to ride , Until you come to fair Tweedside ; And in Melrose's holy pile Seek thou the monk of St Mary's aisle . Greet the father well from me ; Say , that the fated hour is come , And to - night he ...
... steed ; Spare not to spur , nor stint to ride , Until you come to fair Tweedside ; And in Melrose's holy pile Seek thou the monk of St Mary's aisle . Greet the father well from me ; Say , that the fated hour is come , And to - night he ...
Side 5
... steed , Which drinks of the Teviot clear ! Ere break of day , » the warrior ' gan say , Again will I be here : And safer by none may thy errand be done , Than , noble dame , by me ; Letter nor line know I never a one , Were ' t my neck ...
... steed , Which drinks of the Teviot clear ! Ere break of day , » the warrior ' gan say , Again will I be here : And safer by none may thy errand be done , Than , noble dame , by me ; Letter nor line know I never a one , Were ' t my neck ...
Side 7
... steed ; Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread , And his hair did bristle upon his head . k XVII . « Lo , warrior ! now the cross of red Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; Within it burns a wond'rous light , To chase the spirits ...
... steed ; Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread , And his hair did bristle upon his head . k XVII . « Lo , warrior ! now the cross of red Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; Within it burns a wond'rous light , To chase the spirits ...
Side 9
... steed amain , And , pondering deep that morning's scene , Rode eastward through the hawthorns green . WHILE thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale , The Minstrel's voice began to fail : Full slyly smiled the observant page , And gave the ...
... steed amain , And , pondering deep that morning's scene , Rode eastward through the hawthorns green . WHILE thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale , The Minstrel's voice began to fail : Full slyly smiled the observant page , And gave the ...
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ancient arms band bard battle battle of Methven beneath blood blood-hound bold Border Branksome brave breast brow Bruce called CANTO castle chief clan courser dark death deep Deloraine Douglas dread Earl Earl of Angus English Ettrick Forest fair falchion fame fear fell fight fire gallant glance glen grace gray hall hand harp hast hath head hear heard heart heaven Highland hill holy horse Isles James John king knight lady land light Loch Katrine Lord Lorn loud maid mark'd Marmion minstrel Mortham moss-troopers mountain ne'er noble Note o'er pass'd pride Risingham rock Roderick Rokeby round Saint scene Scotland Scots Scott Scottish seem'd Sir Walter Scott slain song sought sound spear Stanza steed stern stone stood SWINTON sword tale tell thee thine thou tide tower turn'd VIPONT wake warrior wave ween wild wind
Populære passager
Side 138 - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Side 126 - Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Side 92 - O Woman ! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made, When pain and anguish wring the brow A ministering angel...
Side 88 - England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ! And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hands upon your sword) I tell thee thou'rt defied!
Side 92 - Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie; Tunstall lies dead upon the field, His life-blood stains the spotless shield: Edmund is down; my life is reft; The Admiral alone is left, Let Stanley charge with spur of fire—- With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost. Must I bid twice? hence, varlets! fly! Leave Marmion here alone — to die.
Side xxvi - In varying cadence, soft or strong, He swept the sounding chords along : The present scene, the future lot, His toils, his wants, were all forgot: Cold diffidence, and age's frost, In the full tide of song were lost ; Each blank, in faithless memory void, The poet's glowing thought supplied : And, while his harp responsive rung, 'Twas thus the latest minstrel sung.
Side 150 - I come with banner, brand, and bow, As leader seeks his mortal foe. For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, As I, until before me stand This rebel Chieftain and his band !
Side 88 - Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought to slay him where he stood. 'Tis pity of him too," he cried : " Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, I warrant him a warrior tried.
Side 92 - Then it was truth," — he said — "I knew That the dark presage must be true. — I would the Fiend, to whom belongs The vengeance due to all her wrongs, Would spare me but a day ! For wasting fire, and dying groan, And priests slain on the altar stone, Might bribe him for delay. It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — Curse on yon base marauder's lance, And doubly cursed my failing brand ! A sinful heart makes feeble hand.
Side 151 - Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. He practised every pass and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintain'd unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood ; No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed.