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ancient anil Appendix arms ballad band bard Barnard Castle battle battle of Methven beneath Bertram blood bold Branksome brave breast broadsword brow Bruce called canto castle chief chivalry clan courser dark death deep Deloraine Douglas dread Earl Earl of Angus English fair falchion fame fate fear fell fierce fight fire gallant gave glance grace hall hand harp hast hath head hear heard heart heaven Highland horse Isles John King King Arthur knight Lady lake land light liis Loch Katrine Lord Lorn loud maid Marmion minstrel Minstrelsy Mortham mountain ne'er noble Note o'er pass'd poem poetry pride Risingham rock Roderick Rokeby romance round rude Saint scene Scotland Scott Scottish seem'd song sound spear stanza steed stood sword tale tell thai thee thine thou tide Tlie tower Twas warrior wave ween wild
Страница 46 - 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, doubly...
Страница 227 - 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...
Страница 191 - In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land.
Страница 194 - 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.
Страница 148 - Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: — " My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation-stone — The hand of Douglas is his own : And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp.
Страница 132 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bridemaidens...
Страница 447 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy, as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground •which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the...
Страница 192 - E'en the slight harebell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread : What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue? — Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The listener held his breath to hear ! A Chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ; Her satin snood, her silken plaid, Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd.
Страница 40 - 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 balm 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.