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Стр. 170 - Now, ever alake! my master dear, I fear a deadly storm! I saw the new moon late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm.
Стр. 30 - And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge castle holds its state And all the steep slope down. Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, Piled deep and massy, close and high, Mine own romantic town ! But northward far, with purer blaze, On Ochil mountains fell the rays, And as each heathy top they kissed, " It gleamed a purple amethyst.
Стр. 164 - The bittern clamour'd from the moss, The wind blew loud and shrill ; Yet the craggy pathway she did cross To the eiry Beacon Hill. " I watch'd her steps, and silent came Where she sat her on a stone ; — No watchman stood by the dreary flame, It burned all alone. " The second night I kept her in sight, Till to the fire she came, And, by Mary's might ! an Armed Knight ( Stood by the lonely flame.
Стр. 123 - ... her plaid, and sat down and wept over him. It being a very desert place, where never victual grew, and far from neighbours, it was some time before any friends came to her.
Стр. 169 - O whare will I get a skeely skipper, To sail this new ship of mine?' O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the King's right knee, 'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sailed the sea.
Стр. 181 - I counsel you, Remember how It is no maiden's law Nothing to doubt, but to run out To wood with an outlaw. For ye must there in your hand bear A bow ready to draw ; And as a thief thus must...
Стр. 123 - To man I can be answerable ; and for God, I will take him in my own hand." Claverhouse mounted his horse, and marched, and left her with the corpse of her dead husband lying there ; she set the bairn on the ground, and gathered his brains, and tied up his head, and straighted his body, and covered him in her plaid, and sat down, and wept over him.
Стр. 32 - There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold— But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. And each St Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell ; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, The dirge of lovely Rosabelle ! XXIV.
Стр. 170 - O where will I get a gude sailor, To take my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall topmast, To see if I can spy land?' 'O here am I, a sailor gude, To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall topmast, But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.
Стр. 163 - gainst the English yew To lift the Scottish spear. Yet his plate-jack was braced and his helmet was laced, And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, Full ten pound weight and more. The baron returned in three days...