The Poetical Works of Walter Scott, Esq, 3 tomas

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James Eastburn & Company, 1818

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180 psl. - One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,
180 psl. - 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 bride-maidens whispered, " Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
179 psl. - Eske river where ford there was none : But ere he alighted at Netherby 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.
236 psl. - Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line : So swore I, and I swear it still, Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought to slay him where he stood. 'Tis pity of him too," he cried : " Bold can he speak, and fairly ride : I warrant him a warrior tried.
251 psl. - Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie; Tunstall lies dead upon the field, His life-blood stains the spotless shield: 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.
234 psl. - But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms and thus he spoke : " My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open at my Sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer, My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation stone, The hand of Douglas is his own ; And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp.
179 psl. - O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, And save his good broad-sword he weapons had none ; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
152 psl. - Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge Castle holds its state, And all the steep slope down, Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, Piled deep and massy, close and high, Mine own romantic town...
254 psl. - Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, Supported by the trembling Monk. XXXII. With fruitless labour, Clara bound, And strove to stanch, the gushing wound: The Monk, with unavailing cares, Exhausted all the Church's prayers. Ever, he said, that, close and near, A lady's voice was in his ear, And that the priest he could not hear ; For that she ever sung, " In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!
234 psl. - 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!

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