The Miscellaneous Prose Works of Sir Walter Scott, Том 5Cadell and Company, 1834 - Всего страниц: 28 |
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advance afforded allies appearance arms army Arnkill artillery attack battle of Ligny battle of Waterloo Belle Alliance blood Blucher Bonaparte Bonaparte's Bourbon British Brussels called cause cavalry character Charleroi chateau church commanded corps Coster cuirassiers defence distinguished Duke of Wellington Emperor enemy English EYRBIGGIA-SAGA favour feeling field of battle fire Flemish force formed Fouché France French Froda gallant garrison Geirrida Genappe Grouchy ground Guards hand honour horses Hougoumont Iceland infantry inhabitants Katla Kiartan king La Belle Alliance La Haye Sainte least Liberalists Louis XVIII ment military monarch Napoleon occasion occupied officers Paris Parisians party person pontiff possessed Prussians Quatre Bras rank regiment religion rendered restoration retreat road royal Royalists scene seemed sion Snorro soldiers Styr success supposed Thorarin Thorgunna Thorodd Thorolf thou tion town troops Ulfar Verimond village Wavre whole wood wounded
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Стр. 70 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, - alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope shall moulder cold and low.
Стр. 262 - Thou hast had pity on the gourd, for the which thou hast not laboured, neither madest it grow; which came up in a night, and perished in a night: and should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than sixscore thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand; and also much cattle?
Стр. 199 - Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king ! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of heaven. What terrors round him wait ! Amazement in his van, with flight combined, And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.
Стр. 228 - A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown On a fool's head - and there is London Town!
Стр. 71 - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day Battle's magnificently stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent, The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent...
Стр. 126 - Believe me," he afterwards said, " that nothing, excepting a battle lost, can be half so melancholy as a battle won. The bravery of my troops has hitherto saved me from that greater evil ; but, to win...
Стр. 220 - And vainly preach'd before. That spell upon the minds of men Breaks never to unite again, That led them to adore Those Pagod things of sabre sway, With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.
Стр. 220 - Tis done — but yesterday a King ! And arm'd with Kings to strive — And now thou art a nameless thing : So abject — yet alive ! Is this the man of thousand thrones, Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones, And can he thus survive ? — Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star, Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
Стр. 125 - The lancer couch'd his ruthless spear, And hurrying as to havoc near, The cohorts' eagles flew. In one dark torrent, broad and strong, The advancing onset...
Стр. 197 - There was a degree of suspicion, arising from this very unanimity, concerning the motives for which these emblems were assumed ; and I dare say the poor inhabitants might many of them have expressed their feelings in the words of Fletcher, — " Who is he here that did not wish thee chosen, Now thou art chosen ? Ask them — all will say so. Nay swear't — 'tis for the king ; but let that pass.