The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott: With a Memoir of the Author, Том 3

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Little, Brown, 1857
 

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Страница 56 - Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille.
Страница 109 - Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be ! How few, all weak and wither'd of their force, Wait on the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his ceaseless course.
Страница 220 - 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 35 - Boon nature scatter'd, free and wild, Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. Here eglantine embalm'd the air, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; The primrose pale and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower...
Страница 131 - The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory.
Страница 42 - To measured mood had trained her pace, A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew ; E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread...
Страница 41 - Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, — The sportive toil, which, short and light. Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, Served too in hastier swell to show Short glimpses of a breast of snow : What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had...
Страница 168 - O Alice Brand, my native land Is lost for love of you; And we must hold by wood and wold, As outlaws wont to do. " O Alice,'twas all for thy locks so bright, And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, That on the night of our luckless flight, Thy brother bold I slew. " Now must I teach to hew the...
Страница 211 - Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; Sunk brand, and spear, and bended bow, In osiers pale and copses low ; It seemed as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth.
Страница 34 - The rocky summits, split and rent, Form'd turret, dome, or battlement, Or seem'd fantastically set With cupola or minaret, Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd, Or mosque of Eastern architect.

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