The Lady of the Lake

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Macmillan, 1910 - Katrine, Loch (Scotland) - 208 pages
 

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Page 22 - 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.
Page 121 - And reached that torrent's sounding shore* Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, From Vennachar in silver breaks, Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines On Bochastle the mouldering lines, Where Rome, the Empress of the world, Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.
Page 119 - 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.
Page 23 - 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 2 - The antlered 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...
Page 2 - THE stag at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; But, when the sun his beacon red Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay Resounded up the rocky way, And faint, from farther distance borne, Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 2. As chief who hears his warder call, "To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," The antlered monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch...
Page 109 - Bold words ! — but, though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim, Though space and law the stag we lend, Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, Who ever...
Page xx - NOVEMBER'S sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear : Late, gazing down the steepy linn, That hems our little garden in, Low in its dark and narrow glen, You scarce the rivulet might ken, So thick the tangled greenwood grew, So feeble trill'd the streamlet through : Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen, Through bush and brier, no longer green, An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, Brawls over rock and wild cascade, And, foaming brown with doubled speed, * Hurries its waters to the...
Page 122 - Who spills the foremost foeman's life, His party- conquers in the strife.'" — "Then, by my word," the Saxon said, "The riddle is already read. Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, — There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.
Page 57 - 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...

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