The Lady of the Lake

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Adam and Charles Black, 1874 - Всего страниц: 280
 

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Стр. 65 - The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Стр. 24 - No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armour's clang, or war-steed champing Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the daybreak from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping.
Стр. 93 - Have, then, thy wish!"— he whistled shrill, And he was answered from the hill ; Wild as the scream of the curlew From crag to crag the signal flew. Instant, through copse and heath, arose Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; On right, on left, above, below, Sprung up at once the lurking foe...
Стр. 118 - The Minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, For, ere he parted, he would say Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — Where shall he find, in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand...
Стр. 7 - I little thought, when first thy rein I slacked upon the banks of Seine, That highland eagle e'er should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant grey !
Стр. 97 - Who ill deserved my courteous' care, And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair lady's hair.' 'I thank thee, Roderick, for the word! It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein. Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, begone!
Стр. 107 - Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate: and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust ye ? With every minute you do change a mind; And call him noble, that was now your hate, Him vile, that was your garland.
Стр. 97 - Chief! can courtesy be shown ; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt, We try this quarrel hilt to hilt...
Стр. 3 - He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.
Стр. 120 - Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear : For life ! for life ! their flight they ply— And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broad-swords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear.

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