The Lyrics and Ballads of Sir Walter Scott

Forsideomslag
J.M. Dent, 1894 - 248 sider
 

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Side 66 - 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 l 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 29 - 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 1 - Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily merrily mingle they, ' Waken, lords and ladies gay. ' Waken, lords and ladies gay...
Side 62 - The blackening wave is edg'd with white : To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the WaterSprite, Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.
Side 33 - 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. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber.
Side 46 - twas Claver'se who spoke, ' Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke ; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Side 64 - Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving ; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving ; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, O never.
Side 79 - In the proudly-arch'd chapel the banners are beaming, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall. But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.
Side 220 - Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, What sullen roar comes down the gale And drowns the hunter's pealing horn? Mightiest of all the beasts of chase That roam in woody Caledon, Crashing the forest in his race, The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. Fierce on the hunter's quiver'd band He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, Spurns with black hoof and horn the sand, And tosses high his mane of snow.
Side 182 - Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; At ilka tett of her horse's mane, Hung fifty siller bells and nine. True Thomas, he pull'd aff his cap, And Iputed low down to his knee, " All hail, thou mighty queen of heaven ! For thy peer on earth I never did see."—

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