Readings for the young, from the works of sir Walter Scott, Bind 3

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Side 196 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Side 195 - Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. So faithful in love and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
Side 189 - The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path, in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
Side 200 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love I No more of me you knew.
Side 200 - The village maid steals through the shade, Her shepherd's suit to hear; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier.
Side 196 - O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.
Side 200 - Alas, the warp'd and broken board, How can it bear the painter's dye ! The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord, How to the minstrel's skill reply ! To aching eyes each landscape lowers, To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; And Araby's or Eden's bowers Were barren as this moorland hill.
Side 195 - ... west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. So faithful in love and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate The bride had consented, the gallant came late...
Side 80 - This is a fine scene," he said to his companion, curious, perhaps, to draw out her sentiments ; " we have nothing like it in Scotland." " It 's braw rich feeding for the cows, and they have a fine breed o' cattle here," replied Jeanie ; " but I like just as weel to look at the craigs of Arthur's Seat, and the sea coming in ayont them, as at a
Side 196 - One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! " She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,

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