The Lady of the Lake: A Poem

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A. Towar, 1826 - Всего страниц: 282
 

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My sweetheart loves Jane Austen, in every form - paper and ink, or audio readings, or DVDs of performances. In Persuasion, we are set to ponder: Lady of the Lake, or Marmion? It's a wonder to hear Sir ... Читать весь отзыв

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I think this was the first of Scott's long poems I read. I recall being terrified by the "nonnday hag" while reading it in bed in my uncle's farmhouse in Maine Читать весь отзыв

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Стр. 155 - 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. 71 - 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. Fleet foot on the correi...
Стр. 122 - 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. 18 - On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage, Yet had not quench'd the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth ; Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare, The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, Of hasty love, or headlong ire.
Стр. 25 - 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. 94 - Merry it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter's horn is ringing.
Стр. 118 - 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. Where dwell we now ! See rudely swell Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. Ask we this savage hill we tread, For...
Стр. 120 - That whistle garrisoned the glen At once with full five hundred men, As if the yawning hill to heaven A subterranean host had given. Watching their leader's beck and will, All silent there they stood, and still. Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, As if an infant's touch' could urge Their headlong passage down the verge, With step and weapon forward flung, Upon the mountain-side they hung.
Стр. 13 - 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, Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face Could on the dark-blue mirror trace; And farther as the hunter strayed, Still broader sweep its channels made.
Стр. 44 - And near, and nearer as they rowed, Distinct the martial ditty flowed. XIX BOAT SONG Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! Honoured and blessed be the ever-green Pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!

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