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ancient arms band battle bear beneath blood bold bound brave breast brow Bruce called castle chief close dark death deep Douglas dread Earl English fair faith fame fear fell field fight fire gave give glance grace hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hold hour King knight lady lake land leave light living look Lord loud maid Marmion meet morning mountain ne'er never noble notes o'er once pass pride rest rock rose round Saint scene Scotland Scott Scottish seem'd seen side song soon sound spear steed stood strain strong sword tale tell thee thine thou thought tide Till took tower true turn voice wake warrior wave wild wind wood youth
Page 103 - 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 bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Page 42 - 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 concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly...
Page 123 - O woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made ; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou...
Page 47 - O listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. — " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. " The blackening wave is edged with white : To inch* and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. "Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed...
Page 118 - 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 104 - 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?
Page 38 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven : It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind. In body and in soul can bind.
Page 103 - I long woo'd 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 58 - O'er PITT'S the mournful requiem sound, And Fox's shall the notes rebound. The solemn echo seems to cry, — " Here let their discord with them die : Speak not for those a separate doom, Whom Fate made Brothers in the tomb ; But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like agen...
Page 47 - There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold — But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle 1 And each St. Clair was buried there, With candle, with book and with knell; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.