The poetical works of sir Walter Scott. With prefatory notice by W. Sharp, 第 2 巻 |
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25 ページ
... battle - axe , a hunting - spear , And broadswords , bows , and arrows store , With the tusk'd trophies of the boar . Here grins the wolf as when he died , And there the wild cat's brindled hide The frontlet of the elk adorns , Or ...
... battle - axe , a hunting - spear , And broadswords , bows , and arrows store , With the tusk'd trophies of the boar . Here grins the wolf as when he died , And there the wild cat's brindled hide The frontlet of the elk adorns , Or ...
26 ページ
... battle - field . " She sigh'd , then smiled and took the word : " You see the guardian champion's sword : As light it trembles in his hand , As in my grasp a hazel wand ; My sire's tall form might grace the part Of Ferragus or Ascabart ...
... battle - field . " She sigh'd , then smiled and took the word : " You see the guardian champion's sword : As light it trembles in his hand , As in my grasp a hazel wand ; My sire's tall form might grace the part Of Ferragus or Ascabart ...
33 ページ
... battle line , Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport , Where beauty sees the brave resort , The honour'd meed be thine ! True be thy sword , thy friend sincere , Thy lady constant , kind , and dear , And lost in love and friendship's ...
... battle line , Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport , Where beauty sees the brave resort , The honour'd meed be thine ! True be thy sword , thy friend sincere , Thy lady constant , kind , and dear , And lost in love and friendship's ...
42 ページ
... battle - brand , of yore For Tine - man forged by fairy lore , What time he leagued , no longer foes , His border spears with Hotspur's bows , Did , self - unscabbarded , foreshow The footstep of a secret foe . If courtly spy hath ...
... battle - brand , of yore For Tine - man forged by fairy lore , What time he leagued , no longer foes , His border spears with Hotspur's bows , Did , self - unscabbarded , foreshow The footstep of a secret foe . If courtly spy hath ...
44 ページ
... battle rose , With mingled outcry , shrieks , and blows ; And mimic din of stroke and ward , As broadsword upon target jarr'd ; And groaning pause , ere yet again , Condensed , the battle yell'd amain ; The rapid charge , the rallying ...
... battle rose , With mingled outcry , shrieks , and blows ; And mimic din of stroke and ward , As broadsword upon target jarr'd ; And groaning pause , ere yet again , Condensed , the battle yell'd amain ; The rapid charge , the rallying ...
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多く使われている語句
arms band battle bear beneath blood bold bore bound brand brave breast brow Bruce chase Chief Chieftain claim close cried dark deep Douglas dread drew Ellen fair father fear fell fierce fight fire gave give glance glen grace green grey guard hall hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hold hour isle King knight lady lake land light lone look Lord Lorn lost loud maid meet minstrel morn mountain ne'er noble o'er once pass plaid poor pride rest ring rock Roderick Ronald rose round seem'd seen shore side soon sought sound spear speed spoke stand steed step stern stood strain stranger strife strong sword tears tell thee thine thou thought tide Till tower Twas voice wake wave wild wind
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73 ページ - But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi...
18 ページ - With head upraised, and look intent, And eye and ear attentive bent, And locks flung back and lips apart, Like monument of Grecian art, In listening mood, she seem'd to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.
29 ページ - Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille.
9 ページ - The antler'd monarch of the waste 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...
154 ページ - Is it the thunder's solemn sound That mutters deep and dread, Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread ? Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance The sun's retiring beams?
45 ページ - And near, and nearer as they row'd, Distinct the martial ditty flow'd. Song. Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances ! Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine ! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line...
28 ページ - No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armour's clang, or war-steed champing Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the daybreak from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping.
61 ページ - Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be ! How few, all weak and wither'd of their force, Wait on the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course.
122 ページ - Returned the chief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before : " Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I.
79 ページ - The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary!