The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, 6 tomasA. Constable, 1821 |
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13 psl.
... sound , Till burst the bolt on yonder shore , Roll'd , blazed , destroy'd , —and was no more . Nor mourn ye less his perish'd worth , Who bade the conqueror go forth , And launch'd that thunderbolt of war On Egypt , Hafnia , * Trafalgar ...
... sound , Till burst the bolt on yonder shore , Roll'd , blazed , destroy'd , —and was no more . Nor mourn ye less his perish'd worth , Who bade the conqueror go forth , And launch'd that thunderbolt of war On Egypt , Hafnia , * Trafalgar ...
15 psl.
... sound is still , The warder silent on the hill ! Oh , think , how to his latest day , When death , just hovering , claim'd his prey , With Palinure's unalter'd mood , Firm at his dangerous post he stood ; Each call for needful rest ...
... sound is still , The warder silent on the hill ! Oh , think , how to his latest day , When death , just hovering , claim'd his prey , With Palinure's unalter'd mood , Firm at his dangerous post he stood ; Each call for needful rest ...
19 psl.
... sound , And Fox's shall the notes rebound . The solemn echo seems to cry , — " Here let their discord with them die . 66 Speak not for those a separate doom , " Whom Fate made Brothers in the tomb ; " But search the land of living men ...
... sound , And Fox's shall the notes rebound . The solemn echo seems to cry , — " Here let their discord with them die . 66 Speak not for those a separate doom , " Whom Fate made Brothers in the tomb ; " But search the land of living men ...
21 psl.
... sounds die on my ear . Now slow return the lonely down , The silent pastures bleak and brown , The farm begirt with copse - wood wild , The gambols of each frolic child , Mixing their shrill cries with the tone Of Tweed's dark waters ...
... sounds die on my ear . Now slow return the lonely down , The silent pastures bleak and brown , The farm begirt with copse - wood wild , The gambols of each frolic child , Mixing their shrill cries with the tone Of Tweed's dark waters ...
24 psl.
... and spell , While tyrants ruled , and damsels wept , Thy Genius , Chivalry , hath slept : There sound the harpings of the North , Till he awake and sally forth , On venturous quest to prick again , In all his 24 INTRODUCTION.
... and spell , While tyrants ruled , and damsels wept , Thy Genius , Chivalry , hath slept : There sound the harpings of the North , Till he awake and sally forth , On venturous quest to prick again , In all his 24 INTRODUCTION.
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Abbess ancient Angus arms band banner battle beneath blast bold Border Bothwell brand called CANTO castle chapel Clare Cuthbert dame dark deep Douglas e'er Earl Earl of Mar Edinburgh England English Eustace fair falcon fear fell fight Fitz-Eustace Flodden foes gallant grace grave Guenever hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven Hilda hill holy Holy Island horse host James IV King James King's knight Lady land light Lindesay Lindisfarn Lochinvar Lord Marmion loud maid mark'd merry minstrel Monarch monks mountain ne'er noble Norham Norham Castle Northumberland Note nought o'er Palmer pass'd Perchance Pitscottie plain rest rode round royal rude Saint Saint George scarce Scotland Scottish seem'd shield Sir David Sir Launcelot spear squire St Cuthbert steed stood Surrey sword tale Tamworth Tantallon tell thee Thomas Gray thou thought tide tower Twas Whitby Whitby's wild Wilton
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227 psl. - With gloomy splendour red ; For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, That round her sable turrets flow, The morning beams were shed, And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 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...
268 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.
377 psl. - Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, Unbroken was the ring ; The stubborn spear-men still made good Their dark impenetrable wood, Each stepping where his comrade stood, The instant that he fell.
266 psl. - Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save his good broadsword 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.
345 psl. - Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire. "And this to me !" he said ; "An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas
10 psl. - So feeble trill'd the streamlet through : Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen, Through bush and brier, no longer green, An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, Brawls over rock and wild cascade, And, foaming brown with doubled speed, Hurries its waters to the Tweed.
373 psl. - In vain for Constance is your zeal ; She died at Holy Isle."— Lord Marmion started from the ground, As light as if he felt no wound ; Though in the action burst the tide, In torrents, from his wounded side. " Then it was truth," he said — " I knew That the dark presage must be true.— I would the Fiend, to whom belongs The vengeance due to all her wrongs, Would spare me but a day ! For wasting fire, and dying groan, And priests slain on the altar stone, Might bribe him for delay.
346 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...
151 psl. - Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying ; Eleu loro There shall he be lying.
346 psl. - Lord Marmion turned — well was his need — And dashed the rowels in his steed, Like arrow through the archway sprung, The ponderous grate behind him rung; To pass there was such scanty room, The bars descending razed his plume.