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arms band battle bear blade blood bold brand brave brow called cause chase Chief Chieftain claim clan close Cross danger dark deep Douglas dread dream drew Ellen English fair father fear feel Fitz-James followed foot gave give glance glen grace gray green guard hand harp head hear heard heart heaven held Highland hill hold honored James King knew knight Lady lake land light literature living Loch look Lord lost loud maid maiden Malcolm meet Minstrel morning mountain noble o'er o’er pass plaid pride rest rock Roderick Dhu rose round Saxon Scotland seemed side sire soon sought sound speed spoke stand step stood strain stranger sword tear tell thee thine thou thought tide Till true turned voice wake wave wild wind young
Стр. 22 - SOLDIER, REST! THY WARFARE O'ER From THE LADY OF THE LAKE 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.
Стр. 67 - 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.
Стр. 13 - And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form, or lovelier face! What though the sun, with ardent frown, Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, The sportive toil, which, short and light, Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, Served too in hastier swell to show Short glimpses of a breast of snow ; What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had trained her pace, A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew; E'en the slight...
Стр. 118 - Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. This murderous chief, this ruthless man, This head of a rebellious clan, Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.
Стр. 8 - 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. The rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, or battlement, Or seemed fantastically...
Стр. 113 - Saxon, from yonder mountain high, I marked thee send delighted eye, Far to the south and east, where lay, Extended in succession gay, Deep waving fields and pastures green, With gentle slopes and groves between. These fertile plains, that softened vale, Were once the birthright of the Gael; The stranger came with iron hand, And from our fathers reft the land.
Стр. 9 - Where glistening streamers waved and danced, The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's delicious blue ; So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream.
Стр. 120 - Yet think not that by thee alone, Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown ; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle, clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt — We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.
Стр. 22 - No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the day-break from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.
Стр. 151 - For life! for life! their plight they ply— And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear. Onward they drive, in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursued ; Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall it keep its rooted place, The spearmen's twilight wood? — "Down, down," cried Mar, "your lances down!