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Abbotsford admired afterwards amidst ancient appeared Ashestiel autumn ballad bard beautiful became Border Burns Byron called Castle CHAPTER character Constable Covenanters dark daughter death delight described Edinburgh Edinburgh Review enthusiasm exquisite father favourite feeling felt friends genius Gilsland Goethe Guy Mannering hand heart Highland hills Hogg humour interest Ivanhoe James Ballantyne James Hogg Jeffrey Joanna Baillie John John Ballantyne labours lady literary lived Loch Lockhart London look Lord Marmion mind Minstrel Minstrelsy moral morning mountain Napoleon nature never night noble Old Mortality party Perthshire poem poet poetical poetry Redgauntlet reply returned romance ruin says scene scenery Scotch Scotland Scottish seemed Shakspeare Sir Walter Scott soul spirit story strong style thought tion Tom Purdie took verses visited Waverley Novels whole wild William Laidlaw Wordsworth worthy writing wrote young
Стр. 123 - Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way Through the rude bosom of the hill, And that each naked precipice, Sable ravine, and dark abyss, Tells of the outrage still. The wildest glen, but this, can show Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; On high...
Стр. 11 - Duncan, who had not patience to have a sober chat interrupted by my shouting forth this ditty. Methinks I now see his tall thin emaciated figure, his legs cased in clasped gambadoes, and his face of a length that would have rivalled the Knight of La Mancha's, and hear him exclaiming, " One may as well speak in the mouth of a cannon as where that child is.
Стр. 374 - When Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonished lands, The cloudy pillar glided slow ; By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands Returned the fiery column's glow.
Стр. 154 - The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet ; The westland wind is hush and still — The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; • Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. " With listless look along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, i And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride.
Стр. 2 - In [April 1758] my father married Anne Rutherford, eldest daughter of Dr John Rutherford, professor of medicine in the University of Edinburgh. He was one of...
Стр. 83 - tis no laughing matter; little by little, whatever your wishes may be, you will destroy and undermine, until nothing of what makes Scotland Scotland shall remain.
Стр. 342 - It can be said of him, When he departed, he took a Man's life along with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time. Alas, his fine Scotch face, with its shaggy honesty, sagacity and goodness, when we saw it latterly on the Edinburgh streets, was all worn with care, the joy all fled from it;—ploughed deep with labour and sorrow. We shall never forget it; we shall never see it again. Adieu,' Sir Walter, pride of all Scotchmen, take our proud and...
Стр. 197 - On descending, he was to be found seated with all his dogs and ours about him, under a spreading ash that overshadowed half the bank between the cottage and the brook, pointing the edge of his woodman's...
Стр. 256 - ... to throw away life as a child does a broken toy. I am sure I know one who has often felt so. O God ! what are we ? — Lords of nature ? — Why, a tile drops from a house-top, which an elephant would not feel more than the fall of a sheet of paste-board, and there lies his lordship. Or something of inconceivably minute origin — the pressure of a bone, or the inflammation of a particle of the brain — takes place, and the emblem of the Deity destroys himself or some one else.
Стр. 17 - He has the most extraordinary genius of a boy I ever saw. He was reading a poem to his mother when I went in. I made him read on : it was the description of a shipwreck. His passion rose with the storm. He lifted his eyes and hands. 'There's the mast gone,' says he; 'crash it goes ! — they will all perish ! ' After his agitation, he turns to me. 'That is too melancholy,' says he; 'I had better read you something more amusing.