The Poetical Works of Sir Walter ScottA. and W. Galignani, 1831 - Всего страниц: 490 |
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Стр. xx
... bold and abrupt strokes , he sketches a of the incidents of the battle of Homildon to the most spirited outline , and then instantly kindles Hill of Halidon , seems such a violation of authen- it by the sudden light and colour of some ...
... bold and abrupt strokes , he sketches a of the incidents of the battle of Homildon to the most spirited outline , and then instantly kindles Hill of Halidon , seems such a violation of authen- it by the sudden light and colour of some ...
Стр. xxviii
... bold attempt to make out a long and eventful story , from a very narrow circle of society , and a scene so circumscribed as scarce- ly to admit of any great scope or variety of action ; and its failure , in a certain degree , must in ...
... bold attempt to make out a long and eventful story , from a very narrow circle of society , and a scene so circumscribed as scarce- ly to admit of any great scope or variety of action ; and its failure , in a certain degree , must in ...
Стр. 5
... bold moss - trooper's road . XXIX . At the first plunge the horse sunk low , And the I water broke o'er the saddle - bow ; Above the foaming tide , I ween , Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; For he was barded ' from counter to ...
... bold moss - trooper's road . XXIX . At the first plunge the horse sunk low , And the I water broke o'er the saddle - bow ; Above the foaming tide , I ween , Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; For he was barded ' from counter to ...
Стр. 6
... Bold Deloraine his errand said ; The porter bent his humble head ; With torch in hand , and feet unshod , And noiseless step , the path he trod : The arched cloisters far and wide Rang to the warrior's clanking stride ; Till , stooping ...
... Bold Deloraine his errand said ; The porter bent his humble head ; With torch in hand , and feet unshod , And noiseless step , the path he trod : The arched cloisters far and wide Rang to the warrior's clanking stride ; Till , stooping ...
Стр. 12
... bold Buccleuch ; And if thou dost not set me free , False southron , thou shalt dearly rue ! For Walter of Harden shall come with speed , And William of Deloraine , good at need , And every Scott from Esk to Tweed ; And , if thou dost ...
... bold Buccleuch ; And if thou dost not set me free , False southron , thou shalt dearly rue ! For Walter of Harden shall come with speed , And William of Deloraine , good at need , And every Scott from Esk to Tweed ; And , if thou dost ...
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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
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Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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...
Стр. 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!
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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 !
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.