The poetical works of sir Walter Scott. Ed., with a critical memoir, by W.M. Rossetti. Illustr |
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... sword and spur on heel ; They quitted not their harness bright , Neither by day , nor yet by night : They lay down to rest With corslet laced , Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel , And they ...
... sword and spur on heel ; They quitted not their harness bright , Neither by day , nor yet by night : They lay down to rest With corslet laced , Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel , And they ...
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sir Walter Scott (bart.) William Michael Rossetti. 4 His sword hangs rusting on the wall , Beside his broken spear . Bards long shall tell , How Lord Walter fell ! When startled burghers fled , afar , The furies of the Border war ; When ...
sir Walter Scott (bart.) William Michael Rossetti. 4 His sword hangs rusting on the wall , Beside his broken spear . Bards long shall tell , How Lord Walter fell ! When startled burghers fled , afar , The furies of the Border war ; When ...
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... sword they won their land , And by the sword they hold it still . Hearken , Ladye , to the tale , How thy sires won fair Eskdale.— Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair , The Beattisons were his vassals there . The Earl was gentle ...
... sword they won their land , And by the sword they hold it still . Hearken , Ladye , to the tale , How thy sires won fair Eskdale.— Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair , The Beattisons were his vassals there . The Earl was gentle ...
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... Galliard had said , A Beattison on the field was laid . His own good sword the chieftain drew , And he bore the Galliard through and through ; · 1 + เ Where the Beattisons ' blood mixed with the rill , 32 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL .
... Galliard had said , A Beattison on the field was laid . His own good sword the chieftain drew , And he bore the Galliard through and through ; · 1 + เ Where the Beattisons ' blood mixed with the rill , 32 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL .
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... home , their law the sword , They knew no country , owned no lord : They were not armed like England's sons , But bore the levin - darting guns ; Buff - coats , all frounced and broidered o'er , 34 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL .
... home , their law the sword , They knew no country , owned no lord : They were not armed like England's sons , But bore the levin - darting guns ; Buff - coats , all frounced and broidered o'er , 34 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL .
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arms band battle bear beneath blood bold bore bound brand brave breast bright brow castle chief close cross dark death deep Douglas dread drew fair fate fear fell field fight fire gave give glance grace gray green hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hold hour King knew knight lady land light living lonely look Lord loud maid mark Marmion meet minstrel morning mountain ne'er never noble o'er once passed pride rest rock rose round Saint scarce scene seemed seen side song soon sought sound spear spoke steed stood strange stream sword tale tell thee thine thou thought tide Till tower train true turned Twas voice wake warrior wave wild wind youth
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143 ページ - 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.
13 ページ - The moon on the east oriel shone Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand In many a freakish knot had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow wreaths to stone.
59 ページ - And glimmered all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St Clair.
190 ページ - The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way ; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path, in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle ; Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
143 ページ - 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.
171 ページ - Not lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim: And when Lord Marmion reached his band, He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers. ' Horse ! horse ! ' the Douglas cried, ' and chase ! ' But soon he reined his fury's pace: ' A royal messenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name.
187 ページ - Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But ere his fleet career he took, The dew-drops from his flanks he shook; Like crested leader proud and high Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky; A moment gazed adown the dale, A moment snuffed the tainted gale, A moment listened to the cry, That thickened as the chase drew nigh; Then, as the headmost foes appeared, With one brave bound the copse he cleared, And, stretching forward free and far, Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.
193 ページ - And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form, or lovelier face ! What though the sun, with ardent frown, 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 train'd her pace, — A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew; E'en...
177 ページ - Rushed with bare bosom on the spear, And flung the feeble targe aside, And with both hands the broadsword plied, 'Twas vain: — But Fortune, on the right, With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight.
191 ページ - And now, to issue from the glen, No pathway meets the wanderer's ken. Unless he climb, with footing nice, A far projecting precipice. The broom's tough roots his ladder made, The hazel saplings lent their aid...