The poetical works of sir Walter Scott. With life. 8 engr. on steel |
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Стр. 11
... thee , To win the treasure of the tomb : For this will be St Michael's night , And , though stars be dim , the moon is bright ; And the Cross , of bloody red , Will point to the grave of the mighty dead . XXIII . " What he gives thee ...
... thee , To win the treasure of the tomb : For this will be St Michael's night , And , though stars be dim , the moon is bright ; And the Cross , of bloody red , Will point to the grave of the mighty dead . XXIII . " What he gives thee ...
Стр. 14
... thee to live and die ; When distant Tweed is heard to rave , And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave , Then ... thee by me ; Says , that the fated hour is come , And that to - night I shall watch with thee , To win the treasure ...
... thee to live and die ; When distant Tweed is heard to rave , And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave , Then ... thee by me ; Says , that the fated hour is come , And that to - night I shall watch with thee , To win the treasure ...
Стр. 17
... thee The words that cleft Eildon hills in three , And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone : But to speak them were a deadly sin ; And for having but thought them my heart within , A treble penance must be done . XIV . " When Michael ...
... thee The words that cleft Eildon hills in three , And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone : But to speak them were a deadly sin ; And for having but thought them my heart within , A treble penance must be done . XIV . " When Michael ...
Стр. 18
... his death - prayer had pray'd , Thus unto Deloraine he said : - " Now , speed thee what thou hast to do , Or , Warrior , we may dearly rue ; For those , thou may'st not look upon , Are 18 CANTO II , THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL .
... his death - prayer had pray'd , Thus unto Deloraine he said : - " Now , speed thee what thou hast to do , Or , Warrior , we may dearly rue ; For those , thou may'st not look upon , Are 18 CANTO II , THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL .
Стр. 19
... thee hence , " the Father said , " And when we are on death - bed laid , O may our dear Ladye , and sweet St John , Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! " The Monk return'd him to his cell , And many a prayer and penance sped ...
... thee hence , " the Father said , " And when we are on death - bed laid , O may our dear Ladye , and sweet St John , Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! " The Monk return'd him to his cell , And many a prayer and penance sped ...
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ancient arms bade band Baron battle beneath Bertram blood blood-hound bold bower brand brave breast Brignall brow castle chase clan courser dark deep Deloraine Denzil Douglas dread Earl Earl of Angus English Ettrick Forest fair fear fell fight fire gallant glance Græme grey Guenever hall hand harp hast hath head hear heard heart heaven holy horse hound King knight lady land light Loch Katrine lonely Lord Marmion loud maid mark'd Matilda minstrel morning Mortham mountain ne'er noble o'er pale pass'd pride proud Redmond Risingham Roderick Rokeby Rokeby's round rung Saint scarce Scotland Scottish seem'd shade show'd Sir Launcelot sire smiled song sought soul sound spear steed stern stood stream sword tale Tamworth tell thee thine Thomas Gray THOMAS THE RHYMER thou tide tower turn'd Twas voice wake warrior wave ween wild Wilfrid wind wood youth
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Стр. 141 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; And the bridemaidens whispered, '"Twere better, by far, To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar...
Стр. 54 - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well ; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
Стр. 47 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven : It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind. In body and in soul can bind.
Стр. 14 - When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory...
Стр. 209 - 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. 140 - River where ford there was none : But ere he alighted at Netherby gate The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
Стр. 179 - 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 thou!
Стр. 65 - That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day ? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead...
Стр. 75 - DAY set on Norham's castled steep, And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, And Cheviot's mountains lone : The battled towers, the donjon keep, The loophole grates, where captives weep, The flanking walls that round it sweep, In yellow lustre shone.
Стр. 349 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green. — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me you knew. ' This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again.