The Lay of the Last Minstrel: A PoemLongman, 1806 - Всего страниц: 332 |
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Стр. 85
... English yeoman good , And born in Lancashire . Well could he hit a fallow deer Five hundred feet him fro ; With hand more true , and eye more clear , No archer bended bow . His coal - black hair , shorn round and close , Set off his sun ...
... English yeoman good , And born in Lancashire . Well could he hit a fallow deer Five hundred feet him fro ; With hand more true , and eye more clear , No archer bended bow . His coal - black hair , shorn round and close , Set off his sun ...
Стр. 114
... English bill and bow , The mercenaries firm and slow , Moved on to fight , in dark array , By Conrad led of Wolfenstein , Who brought the band from distant Rhine , And sold their blood for foreign pay . The camp their home , their law ...
... English bill and bow , The mercenaries firm and slow , Moved on to fight , in dark array , By Conrad led of Wolfenstein , Who brought the band from distant Rhine , And sold their blood for foreign pay . The camp their home , their law ...
Стр. 116
... English eye , intent , On Branksome's armed towers was bent ; So near they were , that they might know The straining harsh of each cross - bow ; On battlement and bartizan Gleamed axe , and spear , and partizan ; Falcon and culver ...
... English eye , intent , On Branksome's armed towers was bent ; So near they were , that they might know The straining harsh of each cross - bow ; On battlement and bartizan Gleamed axe , and spear , and partizan ; Falcon and culver ...
Стр. 117
... rear , Bore high a gauntlet on a spear . When they espied him riding out , Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout Sped to the front of their array , To hear what this old knight should say . XIX . " Ye English warden lords , of you 117.
... rear , Bore high a gauntlet on a spear . When they espied him riding out , Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout Sped to the front of their array , To hear what this old knight should say . XIX . " Ye English warden lords , of you 117.
Стр. 118
A Poem Walter Scott. XIX . " Ye English warden lords , of you Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch , Why , ' gainst the truce of Border - tide , In hostile guise ye dare to ride , With Kendal bow , and Gilsland brand , And all yon mercenary ...
A Poem Walter Scott. XIX . " Ye English warden lords , of you Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch , Why , ' gainst the truce of Border - tide , In hostile guise ye dare to ride , With Kendal bow , and Gilsland brand , And all yon mercenary ...
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
ancient arms band bard Baron beneath betwixt Bewcastle blaze blood blood-hound Border Branksome Branksome Hall Branksome's Buccleuch bugle called CANTO castle Cessford chapel chief clan courser crest cross Cumberland dæmons Dame dead death Douglas dread Duke Earl Earl of Angus Eildon hills English Ettricke Ettricke Forest fair on Carlisle Fawdon fight hall hand harp Hawick head heard highnes horse Howard iron James Jedburgh king Kirkwall knight Ladye laird lance lands LAST MINSTREL Liddesdale Lord Dacre Melrose Michael MINSTREL moss-trooper Musgrave Naworth Castle ne'er noble o'er ride rode Roslin round rung sayd Scotland Scots Scottish Scottish Border shew shulde Sir William slain song spear St Clair steed stone stood sun shines fair sword Teviot's Teviotdale thee theyme theyre Thomas Musgrave thou Tinlinn tomb tower Twas tyme Virgilius Walter Scott warden warrior ween wild William of Deloraine wound
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Стр. 169 - 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. 191 - Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze; when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St. Clair.
Стр. 11 - 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. 19 - Ten of them were sheathed in steel, With belted sword, and spur on heel : They quitted not their harness bright, Neither by day, nor yet by night...
Стр. 15 - 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; And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, Came wildering o'er his aged brain — He tried to tune his harp in vain.
Стр. 13 - Newark's stately tower Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower: The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — No humbler resting-place was nigh: With hesitating step at last, The embattled portal arch he pass'd, Whose ponderous grate and massy bar Had oft roll'd back the tide of war, But never closed the iron door Against the desolate and poor.
Стр. 200 - 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. 136 - Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn Those things inanimate can mourn ; But that the stream, the wood, the gale, Is vocal with the plaintive wail Of those, who, else forgotten long, Lived in the poet's faithful song, And, with the poet's parting breath, Whose memory feels a second death.
Стр. 19 - They quitted not their harness bright Neither by day nor yet by night • They lay down to rest, With corslet laced, Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred.
Стр. 191 - 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 filled by Rosabelle.