The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott: With a Memoir of the Author, 第 2 巻Little, Brown, 1857 |
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... hand Seemed grasping dagger - knife , or brand . Relaxed that grasp , the heavy sigh , The tear in the half - opening eye , The pallid cheek and brow , confessed That grief was busy in his breast ; Nor paused that mood a sudden start ...
... hand Seemed grasping dagger - knife , or brand . Relaxed that grasp , the heavy sigh , The tear in the half - opening eye , The pallid cheek and brow , confessed That grief was busy in his breast ; Nor paused that mood a sudden start ...
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... hand he strongly wrung ; His grasp , as hard as glove of mail , Forced the red blood - drop from the nail- " A health ! " he cried ; and , ere he quaffed , Flung from him Wycliffe's hand , and laughed : Now , Oswald Wycliffe , speaks ...
... hand he strongly wrung ; His grasp , as hard as glove of mail , Forced the red blood - drop from the nail- " A health ! " he cried ; and , ere he quaffed , Flung from him Wycliffe's hand , and laughed : Now , Oswald Wycliffe , speaks ...
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... it is not my design , But , if it were , weak fence were thine ; And , trust me , that , in time of need , This hand hath done more desperate deed . Go , haste and rouse thy slumbering son ; Time 18 [ CANTO I. ROKEBY .
... it is not my design , But , if it were , weak fence were thine ; And , trust me , that , in time of need , This hand hath done more desperate deed . Go , haste and rouse thy slumbering son ; Time 18 [ CANTO I. ROKEBY .
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... hand ; But a fond mother's care and joy Were centred in her sickly boy . No touch of childhood's frolic mood Showed the elastic spring of blood ; Hour after hour he loved to pore On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore , But turned from ...
... hand ; But a fond mother's care and joy Were centred in her sickly boy . No touch of childhood's frolic mood Showed the elastic spring of blood ; Hour after hour he loved to pore On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore , But turned from ...
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... hand the reins , Pity and woe ! for such a mind Is soft , contemplative , and kind ; And woe to those who train such youth , And spare to press the rights of truth , The mind to strengthen and anneal , While on the stithy glows the ...
... hand the reins , Pity and woe ! for such a mind Is soft , contemplative , and kind ; And woe to those who train such youth , And spare to press the rights of truth , The mind to strengthen and anneal , While on the stithy glows the ...
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Allan-a-Dale Argentine arms bade band banner barbed horse beneath Bertram blood bold bore bower brand brave breast bright Brignall broadsword brow Bruce castle cheek dare dark deep Denzil dread drew Edward Bruce fair faith falchion fame fate fear fell fierce fight flame gallant gave gazed glance glow gold grace gray Greta's hall hand Harold harp hast hath hauberk hear heard heart Heaven heir hour Isabel King King Arthur knight land light lone look Lord Lorn loud maid maiden Matilda minstrel Monarch mood morning mortal Mortham ne'er noble o'er pale pause Prelate pride Redmond Risingham rock Rokeby Rokeby's Ronald round Saint Saint Cuthbert scorn seemed shore sire smile song sought soul sound spear spoke steed stern stood stream strife sword tale tell thee thine thou tide tower train Twas wake Warrior wassail wave ween wild Wilfrid youth
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60 ページ - Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen.' 'If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we, That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shall thou speed, As blithe as Queen of May.' Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there,...
70 ページ - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me you knew. "This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ;* But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again.
207 ページ - But here, — above, around, below, On mountain or in glen, Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, Nor aught of vegetative power, The weary eye may ken. For all is rocks at random thrown, Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone...
59 ページ - I'm with my comrades met, Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now. CHORUS. " Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.
229 ページ - Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, And lonely Colonsay ; — Scenes sung by him who sings no more ! His bright and' brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strains ; Quenched is his lamp of varied lore That loved the light of song to pour ; A distant and a deadly shore Has LEYDEN'S cold remains ! XII.
60 ページ - Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay ; I would I were with Edmund there To reign his Queen of May ! ' With burnish'd brand and musketoon So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold Dragoon That lists the tuck of drum.
61 ページ - Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die; The fiend whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I ! And when I'm with my comrades met Beneath the greenwood bough, — What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now.' Chorus 'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.
71 ページ - Ravensworth 3 prances in pride, And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. The mere for his net, and the land for his game, The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, Are less...
72 ページ - Allen-a-Dale. The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : He had...
152 ページ - Tis in the churchyard now — the tread Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, Return the tramp in varied tone. All eyes upon the gateway hung, When through the Gothic arch there sprung A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed — Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed.