The lay of the last minstrel, a poem |
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Стр. 30
... Deloraine . XXI . A stark moss - trooping Scott was he , As e'er couched border lance by knee : Through Solway sands , through Tarras moss , Blindfold , he knew the paths to cross ; By wily turns , by desperate bounds , Had baffled ...
... Deloraine . XXI . A stark moss - trooping Scott was he , As e'er couched border lance by knee : Through Solway sands , through Tarras moss , Blindfold , he knew the paths to cross ; By wily turns , by desperate bounds , Had baffled ...
Стр. 31
... Deloraine , good at need , Mount thee on the wightest steed ; Spare not to spur , nor stint to ride , Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; And in Melrose's holy pile Seek thou the Monk of St Mary's aisle . Greet the father well from me ...
... Deloraine , good at need , Mount thee on the wightest steed ; Spare not to spur , nor stint to ride , Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; And in Melrose's holy pile Seek thou the Monk of St Mary's aisle . Greet the father well from me ...
Стр. 35
... Deloraine To ancient Riddel's fair domain , Where Aill , from mountains freed , Down from the lakes did raving come ; Each wave was crested with tawny foam , Like the mane of a chesnut steed . In vain ! no torrent , deep or broad ...
... Deloraine To ancient Riddel's fair domain , Where Aill , from mountains freed , Down from the lakes did raving come ; Each wave was crested with tawny foam , Like the mane of a chesnut steed . In vain ! no torrent , deep or broad ...
Стр. 44
... Deloraine make there ; Little recked he of the scene so fair . With dagger's hilt , on the wicket strong , He struck full loud , and struck full long . The porter hurried to the gate- " Who knocks so loud , and knocks so late ? " " From ...
... Deloraine make there ; Little recked he of the scene so fair . With dagger's hilt , on the wicket strong , He struck full loud , and struck full long . The porter hurried to the gate- " Who knocks so loud , and knocks so late ? " " From ...
Стр. 44
... Deloraine make there ; Little recked he of the scene so fair . With dagger's hilt , on the wicket strong , He struck full loud , and struck full long . The porter hurried to the gate- " Who knocks so loud , and knocks so late ? " " From ...
... Deloraine make there ; Little recked he of the scene so fair . With dagger's hilt , on the wicket strong , He struck full loud , and struck full long . The porter hurried to the gate- " Who knocks so loud , and knocks so late ? " " From ...
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ancient arms band bard Baron beneath betwixt Bewcastle blaze blood blood-hound Border Branksome Branksome Hall Branksome's brave Buccleuch bugle called CANTO castle chapel chief clan courser crest cross Cumberland dæmons Dame dead Douglas dread Duke Earl Earl of Angus Eildon hills English Ettricke Ettricke Forest fair on Carlisle Gilpin Horner hall hand harp Hawick head heard highnes horse Howard James Jedburgh king Kirkwall knight Ladye laird lance lands LAST MINSTREL Liddesdale Lord Dacre Margaret Melrose Michael MINSTREL moss-trooper Musgrave Naworth Castle ne'er noble o'er ride rode Roslin round rung sayd Scot Scotland Scottish Scottish Border shew shulde Sir William slain song spear St Clair St Mary's steed stone stood sun shines fair sword Teviot's Teviotdale thee theyme theyre Thomas Musgrave thou Tinlinn tower Twas tyme VIII Virgilius Walter Scott warden warrior ween wild William of Deloraine wound
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Стр. 167 - 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 ? 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, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And,...
Стр. 48 - In these far climes it was my lot To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ; A wizard, of such dreaded fame, That when, in Salamanca's cave, Him listed his magic wand to wave, The bells would ring in Notre Dame...
Стр. 13 - Where she with all her ladies sate, Perchance he wished his boon denied: For, when to tune his harp he tried, His trembling hand had lost the ease Which marks security to please...
Стр. 9 - Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry ; For, well-a-day ! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead ; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest.
Стр. 14 - And lighten'd up his faded eye, With all a poet's ecstasy ! In varying cadence, soft or strong, He swept the sounding chords along : The present scene, the future lot, His toils, his wants, were all forgot: Cold diffidence, and age's frost, In the full tide of song were lost ; Each blank in faithless memory void, The poet's glowing thought supplied ; And, while his harp responsive rung, 'Twas thus the LATEST MINSTREL sung.
Стр. 198 - 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?
Стр. 133 - CALL it not vain : — they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies : Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed Bard make moan ; That mountains weep in crystal rill ; That flowers in tears of bahn distil; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan, reply ; And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave.
Стр. 100 - 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 roll'd upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.
Стр. 11 - Duchess* marked his weary pace, His timid mien, and reverend face, And bade her page the menials tell, That they should tend the old man well...
Стр. 145 - 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.