Life of sir Walter Scott [begun by W. Weir, continued] by G. Allan

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Page 253 - dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.' ' If I fail,' I said, for the dialogue is strong in my recollection, ' it is a sign that I ought never to have succeeded, and I will
Page 225 - heaves to the sky, , . Piled deep and massy, close and high, Mine own romantic town ! But northward far, with purer blaze, On Ochil mountains fell the rays, And as each heathy top they kissed, It gleamed a purple amethyst. Yonder the shores of Fife you saw, Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law; And,
Page 226 - them rolled, The gallant Firth the eye might note Whose islands on its bosom float Like emeralds chased in gold; Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent, As if to give his rapture vent, The spur he to his charger lent, And raised his bridle-hand, And making demi-volte in air, Cried, ' Where's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land!'
Page 253 - be permitted to stumble with impunity.' I replied to this affectionate expostulation in the words of Montrose,— ' He either fears his fate too much. Or his deserts are small,
Page 213 - Mourn genius high and lore profound, And wit that loved to play, not wound; And all the reasoning powers divine, To penetrate, resolve, combine, And feeling keen, and fancy's glow,— They sleep with him, who sleeps below!" " When Europe crouched to France's yoke, And Austria bent and Prussia broke,
Page 250 - I have been up all night; my musical friends made me promise to write them an ode for their feast of St. Cecilia: I have been so struck with the subject which occurred to me that I could not leave it till I had completed it; here it is, finished at one sitting.
Page 225 - And mark the distant city glow 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
Page 259 - Far in the bosom of the deep O'er these wild shelves my watch I keep, A ruddy gem of changeful light Bound on the dusky brow of night. The seaman bids my lustre hail. And scorns to strike his timorous sail. WALTER SCOTT.
Page 158 - of good St. John. The lady look'd through the chamber fair, By the light of a dying flame; And she was aware of a knight stood there— Sir Richard of Coldinghame! " Alas! away, away!" she cried, " For the holy virgin's sake !" " Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; But, lady, he will not awake.

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