The Lay of the Last Minstrel: A Poem

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-row, and A. Constable and Company Edinburgh, 1805 - 332 страници
 

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Страница 36 - When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower ; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die...
Страница 193 - That day of wrath, .that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day ? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! HUSH'D is the harp — the Minstrel...
Страница 8 - In varying cadence, soft or strong, He swept the sounding chords along : The present scene, the future lot, His toils, his wants, were all forgot: Cold diffidence, and age's frost, In the full tide of song were lost ; Each blank, in faithless memory void, The poet's glowing thought supplied : And, while his harp responsive rung, 'Twas thus the latest minstrel sung.
Страница 163 - ... 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 ! Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill. By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, Though none should guide...
Страница 162 - 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 dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
Страница 182 - The blackening wave is edged with white : To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh.
Страница 7 - Where she with all her ladies sate, Perchance he wished his boon denied: For, when to tune his harp he tried, His trembling hand had lost the ease Which marks security to please...
Страница 6 - And, would the noble Duchess deign To listen to an old man's strain, Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, He thought even yet, the sooth to speak. That, if she loved the harp to hear, He could make music to her ear.
Страница 139 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven : It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.
Страница 3 - Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the Bards was he, Who sung of, Border chivalry; For, well-a-day! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead ; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest.

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