The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart, Том 7

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Страница 181 - Merrily, merrily goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea. The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, And Ulva dark and Colonsay, And all the group of islets gay That guard famed Staffa round.
Страница 181 - Where, as to shame the temples deck'd By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise A Minster to her Maker's praise ! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend ; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tone prolonged and high, That mocks the organ's melody.
Страница 25 - Till through her wasted hand, at night, You saw the taper shining. By fits a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying ; By fits so ashy pale she grew Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear Seem'd in her frame residing ; Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear She heard her lover's riding ; Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd She knew and waved to greet him, And o'er the battlement did bend As on the wing to meet him. He came — he pass'd — an heedless gaze As o'er...
Страница 286 - Beyond the shadow of the ship I watched the water-snakes ; They moved in tracks of shining white ; And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire — Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam ; and every track Was a flash of golden fire.
Страница 183 - Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, And lonely Colonsay ; — Scenes sung by him who sings no more ! ° His bright and brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strains; Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour; — A distant and a deadly shore Has LEYDEN'S cold remains ! 12 Ever the breeze blows merrily, But the galley ploughs no more the sea.
Страница 139 - And that each naked precipice, Sable ravine, and dark abyss, Tells of the outrage still. The wildest glen, but this, can show Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; On high Benmore green mosses grow, And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe, And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; But here, — above, around, below, On mountain or in glen, Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, Nor aught of vegetative power, The weary eye may ken. For all is rocks at random thrown, Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone,...
Страница 167 - STRANGER ! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced The northern realms of ancient Caledon, Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed, By lake and cataract, her lonely throne ; Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known, Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high, Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry, And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky.
Страница 238 - O! many a shaft at random sent Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word at random spoken May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
Страница 138 - I've wander'd o'er, Clombe many a crag, cross'd many a moor, But, by my halidome, A scene so rude, so wild as this, Yet so sublime in barrenness, Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press, • Where'er I happ'd to roam."— XIV.
Страница 6 - The right-hand Horseman young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May : The left, from eye of tawny glare, Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. He waved his huntsman's cap on high, Cried, " Welcome, welcome, noble lord ! What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, To match the princely chase, afford ? " " Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," Cried the fair youth, with silver voice ; " And for devotion's choral swell Exchange the rude unhallowed noise.

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