The lay of the last minstrel, a poem. With Ballads and lyrical pieces |
Често срещани думи и фрази
ancient arms band bard Baron Beattisons beneath betwixt blaze blood blood-hound Border Branksome Branksome Hall Branksome's brave Buccleuch called CANTO castle chapel chief clan courser crest cross Cumberland dæmons Dame dead death Douglas dread Duke Earl Earl of Angus Eildon Hills English Eskdale Ettricke Ettricke Forest fair on Carlisle Fawdon fight fire gallant hall hand harp head heard heart highnes hill horse Howard James Jedburgh king Kirkwall knight Ladye lances lands LAST MINSTREL Liddisdale Lord Dacre Melrose Michael Scott MINSTREL moss-trooper Musgrave Naworth Castle ne'er noble Note 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 tower Twas tyme Virgilius warriors ween wild William of Deloraine word wound
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Страница 197 - Twas broader than the watch-fire light, And redder than the bright moon-beam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, • It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; Twas seen from Dreyden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden. Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie
Страница 99 - THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO FOURTH. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO FOURTH. I. SWEET Teviot! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore; Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill, As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they
Страница 196 - Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall. " 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."— O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen
Страница 22 - nor tear! Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe; And burning pride, and high disdain, Forbade the rising tear to flow; Until, amid his sorrowing clan, Her son lisped from the nurse's knee— " And, if I live to be a man, My father's death revenged shall be
Страница 79 - seem a palace large, And youth seem age, and age seem youth— All was delusion, nought was truth. X. He had not read another spell, When on his cheek a buffet fell, So fierce, it stretched him on the plain, Beside the wounded Deloraine. From the ground he rose dismayed, And shook his huge and matted
Страница 201 - as Deloraine; His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 'Twas feared his mind would ne'er return; For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, Like him, of whom the story ran, Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.* At length, by fits, he darkly told, With broken hint, and shuddering cold—
Страница 240 - youth with ambition to do? Why left I Amynta ? Why broke I my vow ? Through regions remote in vain do I rove, And bid the wide world secure me from love. Ah, fool, to imagine, that aught could subdue A love so well founded, a passion so true ! Ah, give me my sheep, and my
Страница 206 - Then mass was sung, and prayers were said, And solemn requiem for the dead; And bells tolled out their mighty peal, For the departed spirit's weal; And ever in the office close The hymn of intercession rose; And far the echoing aisles prolong The awful burthen of the song,— DIES
Страница 17 - Maria, shield us well! No living wight, save the Ladye alone, II. The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; Knight, and page, and household squire, Loitered through the lofty hall, Or crowded round the ample fire : The stag-hounds, weary with the chace, Lay stretched upon the rushy floor, And urged, in dreams, the
Страница 25 - And listens to a heavy sound. That moans the mossy turrets round. Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, That chafes against the scaur's * red side ? Is it the wind, that swings the oaks ? Is it the echo from the rocks ? What may it be, the heavy sound, That moans old Branksome's turrets round