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The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott: With a Memoir of the Author, Volume 2
Sir Walter Scott
No preview available - 2015
The Poetical Works Of Sir Walter Scott: With A Sketch Of His Life
Sir Walter Scott,J. W. Lake
No preview available - 2019
ancient appear Appendix arms band battle bear beneath blood bold Border Bruce called castle cause chief close command dark death deep Douglas Earl English fair fear fell field fight fire gave give given grace hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven held hill hold horse hour Isles James John King knight Lady lake land less light living look Lord maid Marmion meet minstrel morning mountain never noble Note o'er once pass person poem pride rest rock round Saint scene Scotland Scott Scottish seems seen side soon sound stone stood strong sword tale tell thee thou thought Till took tower train true turn wave wild wood
Page 46 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly...
Page 221 - Have then thy wish!' — He whistled shrill, And he was answered from the hill ; Wild as the scream of the curlew, From crag to crag the signal flew. Instant, through copse and heath, arose Bonnets and spears and bended bows : On right, on left, above, below, Sprung up at once the lurking foe...
Page 185 - In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land.
Page 189 - 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.
Page 142 - Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: — " My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation-stone — The hand of Douglas is his own : And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp.
Page 126 - 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 bridemaidens...
Page 439 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy, as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground •which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the...
Page 186 - E'en the slight harebell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread : What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue? — Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The listener held his breath to hear ! A Chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ; Her satin snood, her silken plaid, Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd.
Page 40 - CALL it not vain : — they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies : Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed Bard make moan ; That mountains weep in crystal rill ; That flowers in tears of balm distil ; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan, reply ; And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave.