The Picture of Scotland, Том 1

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Стр. 122 - When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach 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 go— but go alone the while — Then view St. David's ruined pile ; And, home' returning, soothly swear, Was never scene so sad and fair ! II.
Стр. 158 - But thou, that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation : Meek loveliness is round thee spread, A softness still and holy ; The grace of forest charms decayed, And pastoral melancholy.
Стр. 121 - If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 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. 157 - O that some Minstrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness...
Стр. 120 - Greece, but living Greece no more ! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite with parting breath ; But beauty with that fearful bloom, That hue which haunts it to the tomb ; Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of Feeling past away!
Стр. viii - I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia ; to sit on the fields of her battles ; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers ; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes.
Стр. 159 - The sober hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. I see — but not by sight alone, Loved Yarrow, have I won thee; A ray of Fancy still survives — Her sunshine plays upon thee...
Стр. 82 - SWEET TEVIOT ! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore ; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.
Стр. 122 - The moon on the east oriel shone, Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined ; Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand ' Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined ; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow wreaths to stone.
Стр. 98 - Lylliard lies under this stane, Little was her stature, but great was her fame ; Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps, And when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her stumps.

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