The poetical works of Walter Scott

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Стр. 68 - 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 ! Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! HUSH'D is the harp — the Minstrel...
Стр. 58 - O listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. — " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. " The blackening wave is edged with white : To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh.
Стр. 58 - Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.
Стр. 248 - CLIMB'D the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide ; All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling. And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
Стр. 3 - CALL it not vain : — they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies...
Стр. 141 - He turned him around, and grimly he frown'd ; Then he laugh'd right scornfully — ' He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight, May as well say mass for me. " ' At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, In thy chamber will I be.
Стр. 250 - With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming, In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb ; When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of...
Стр. 59 - O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden. Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie, Each Baron for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply.
Стр. 37 - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand...
Стр. 136 - gainst the English yew, To lift the Scottish spear. Yet his plate-jack was braced, and his helmet was laced, And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore : At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, Full ten pound weight and more. The Baron returned in three days...

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