The Complete Poetical Works of Sir Walter ScottThomas Y. Crowell, 1894 - 770 pages |
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Page iv
... tell us , " at about the rate of a canto per week . " In a letter written within a month or two after its publication , he wrote , “ It is deficient in that sort of contin- uity which a story ought to have , and which , were it to write ...
... tell us , " at about the rate of a canto per week . " In a letter written within a month or two after its publication , he wrote , “ It is deficient in that sort of contin- uity which a story ought to have , and which , were it to write ...
Page xv
... tell them a story , he would take them on his knee , repeat a ballad or a legend , kiss them , and set them down again to their marbles or ninepins , and resume his labor , as if refreshed by the interruption . ' His accomplishment of ...
... tell them a story , he would take them on his knee , repeat a ballad or a legend , kiss them , and set them down again to their marbles or ninepins , and resume his labor , as if refreshed by the interruption . ' His accomplishment of ...
Page xviii
... telling him of the falling off in popu- larity of the succeeding novels . And Scott , whose literary income had been for some time upwards of £ 10,000 a year , believing that the golden stream was in- exhaustible , entered deeper and ...
... telling him of the falling off in popu- larity of the succeeding novels . And Scott , whose literary income had been for some time upwards of £ 10,000 a year , believing that the golden stream was in- exhaustible , entered deeper and ...
Page xx
... tell , how we cannot tell " and he spoke with warmth of " ' the mysterious yet certain hope that he should see her in a better world . " source . " " Grief , " he wrote , " makes me a housekeeper , and to labor is my only re- Yet he had ...
... tell , how we cannot tell " and he spoke with warmth of " ' the mysterious yet certain hope that he should see her in a better world . " source . " " Grief , " he wrote , " makes me a housekeeper , and to labor is my only re- Yet he had ...
Page 5
... ; but were you , reverend sir , to repeat your best sermon in this drawing - room , I could not tell you half an hour afterwards what you had been speaking about . " Luid- land . I was of some use to him INTRODUCTION . 5.
... ; but were you , reverend sir , to repeat your best sermon in this drawing - room , I could not tell you half an hour afterwards what you had been speaking about . " Luid- land . I was of some use to him INTRODUCTION . 5.
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Common terms and phrases
Abbess ancient arms band battle beneath blood blood-hound bold Border bower brand Branksome Branksome Hall Branksome's brave breast bright broadsword brow CANTO castle Chief clan Clare courser crest Dame dark deep Deloraine Douglas dread e'er Ellen Eskdale Ettrick Forest fair falchion fear fell Fitz-Eustace gallant glance glen grace Græme gray hall hand harp hast hear heard heart heaven hill holy King knight Lady Ladye lake lance land Liddesdale Lindisfarne Loch Katrine lonely look'd Lord Marmion loud maid mark'd merry Mickledale Minstrel moss-trooper mountain ne'er noble Norham o'er pass'd poem pride proud rest ride rode Roderick rose round rude rung Saint Saint Hilda scarce Scotland Scotland's Scott Scottish seem'd show'd sire song sound spear spoke squire steed stood sword tale tell thee thine thou thought tide toil tower Twas warrior wave WAVERLEY NOVELS ween wild
Popular passages
Page 97 - mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? XIII.
Page 96 - I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied : Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar...
Page 40 - O Caledonia ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires!
Page 96 - 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...
Page 131 - Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more : Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Page 115 - King James did rushing come. — Scarce could they hear, or see their foes, Until at weapon-point they close. — They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust ; And such a yell was there, Of sudden and portentous birth, As if men fought upon the earth, And...
Page 128 - 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 seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.
Page 34 - 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.
Page 9 - THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old ; His withered cheek, and tresses gray. Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the bards was he. Who sung of Border chivalry; For, well-a-day ! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead ; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest...
Page 73 - Glared through the window's rusty bars, And ever, by the winter hearth, Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms, Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms; Of patriot battles, won of old By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; Of later fields of feud and fight, When, pouring from their Highland height, The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, Had swept the scarlet ranks away. While...