The Lady of the Lake: A PoemClark & Austin, 1848 - Всего страниц: 155 |
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Стр. 9
... flung , Till envious ivy did around thee cling , Muffling with verdant ringlet every string , - O minstrel harp , still must thine accents sleep ? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring , Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence ...
... flung , Till envious ivy did around thee cling , Muffling with verdant ringlet every string , - O minstrel harp , still must thine accents sleep ? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring , Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence ...
Стр. 16
... flung , Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high , His boughs athwart the narrowed sky . Highest of all , where white peaks glanced , Where glistening streamers waved and danced The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's ...
... flung , Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high , His boughs athwart the narrowed sky . Highest of all , where white peaks glanced , Where glistening streamers waved and danced The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's ...
Стр. 19
... attentive bent , And locks flung back , and lips apart , Like monument of Grecian art . In listening mood she seemed to stand , The guardian Naiad of the strand . XVIII . And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph Canto I 19 THE CHASE .
... attentive bent , And locks flung back , and lips apart , Like monument of Grecian art . In listening mood she seemed to stand , The guardian Naiad of the strand . XVIII . And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph Canto I 19 THE CHASE .
Стр. 25
... flung . Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; For all around , the walls to grace , Hung trophies of the fight or chase : A target there , a bugle here , A battle - axe , a hunting spear , And broad - swords , bows , and arrows store ...
... flung . Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; For all around , the walls to grace , Hung trophies of the fight or chase : A target there , a bugle here , A battle - axe , a hunting spear , And broad - swords , bows , and arrows store ...
Стр. 47
... flung back my praise , As when this old man's silent tear , And this poor maid's affection dear , A welcome give more kind and true , Than aught my better fortunes knew . Forgive , my friend , a father's boast ; O. it outbeggars all I ...
... flung back my praise , As when this old man's silent tear , And this poor maid's affection dear , A welcome give more kind and true , Than aught my better fortunes knew . Forgive , my friend , a father's boast ; O. it outbeggars all I ...
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
agen Allan Alpine's aught Ave Maria band battle Beltane belted plaid beneath Benvenue blade blithe blood bold brand brave breast breath brow CANTO chase chief Chieftain clan Clan-Alpine's cliff copse couch courser crest dark deep deer Douglas dread dream drew e'er Ellen fair falchion fear Fiery Cross Fitz-James flung friendly band Gael gallant gallant band glaive glance glen grace Græme gray guard hand harp hazel shade hear heard heart heath heaven highland hill honoured hound King knight lady lake lance lord loud maid maiden Malcolm Malise martial merry mingled minstrel morning mountain ne'er noble o'er pennons pibroch plaid pride proud rock Roderick Dhu rose Saxon Scotland's shallop side sire smiled snood sought sound spear speed stag stand steed stood strain stranger strife sword tartans tear thee thine thou tide toil Twas wake warrior wave wild wind yonder
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Стр. 27 - 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.
Стр. 143 - And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broad-swords 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 ! Bear back both friend and foe!
Стр. 46 - Some feelings are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than heaven ; And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head...
Стр. 116 - Gael maintained 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. Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And...
Стр. 28 - Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done ; While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not, with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille.
Стр. 114 - And hear— to fire thy flagging zeal— The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred Between the living and the dead ; ' Who spills the foremost foeman's life His party conquers in the strife.' ' Then, by my word,' the Saxon said,
Стр. 142 - That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill. Is it the thunder's solemn sound That mutters deep and dread, Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread ? Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance The sun's retiring beams...
Стр. 17 - gan peep A narrow inlet, still and deep, Affording scarce such breadth of brim, As served the wild-duck's brood to swim. Lost for a space, through thickets veering, But broader when again appearing...
Стр. 116 - And locked his arms his foeman round.— Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, Through bars of brass and triple steel! — They tug, they strain ! down, down they go, . The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
Стр. 16 - Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock; And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, His boughs athwart the narrowed sky.