The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott: With a Sketch of His Life

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J. Crissy, 1838 - 443 страници
 

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Страница 93 - I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! And if thou said'st, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied...
Страница 83 - River where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Nethe'rby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For. a laggard in love and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
Страница 97 - Edmund is down ; — my life is reft ; — The Admiral alone is left Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost — Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ! Leave Marmion here alone — to die.
Страница 83 - 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 whispered, "Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Страница 158 - At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends from heaven that fell Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear: For life ! for life ! their...
Страница 425 - WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sail be his bride: And ye sail be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen" — But aye she loot the tears down fa
Страница 21 - O Caledonia ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand...
Страница 204 - I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum My comrades take the spear.
Страница 151 - Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. He practised every pass and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
Страница 150 - Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel. Short space he stood — then waved his hand: Down sunk the disappearing band; Each warrior...

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