The lay of the last minstrel. With intr. and notes by J. Morison |
From inside the book
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Page 15
... blood . And well she knew , her mother dread , Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed , Would see her on her dying bed . XI . 110 Of noble race the Ladye came : Her father was a clerk of fame , Of Bethune's line of Picardie : He learn'd ...
... blood . And well she knew , her mother dread , Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed , Would see her on her dying bed . XI . 110 Of noble race the Ladye came : Her father was a clerk of fame , Of Bethune's line of Picardie : He learn'd ...
Page 21
... blood dear Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear . XXXI . In bitter mood he spurred fast , And soon the hated heath was past ; And far beneath , in lustre wan , 330 Old Melros ' rose , and fair Tweed ran : Like some tall rock , with ...
... blood dear Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear . XXXI . In bitter mood he spurred fast , And soon the hated heath was past ; And far beneath , in lustre wan , 330 Old Melros ' rose , and fair Tweed ran : Like some tall rock , with ...
Page 34
... blood of Velez ' scorched vine . He raised the silver cup on high , And , while the big drop filled his eye , Prayed God to bless the Duchess long , And all who cheered a son of song . The attending maidens smiled to see , How long ...
... blood of Velez ' scorched vine . He raised the silver cup on high , And , while the big drop filled his eye , Prayed God to bless the Duchess long , And all who cheered a son of song . The attending maidens smiled to see , How long ...
Page 36
... blood was cold , And that my kindly fire was fled , And my poor withered heart was dead , And that I might not sing of love ? — How could I to the dearest theme That ever warmed a minstrel's dream , So foul , so false , a recreant prove ...
... blood was cold , And that my kindly fire was fled , And my poor withered heart was dead , And that I might not sing of love ? — How could I to the dearest theme That ever warmed a minstrel's dream , So foul , so false , a recreant prove ...
Page 40
... blood welled freshly from the wound . XII . As he repassed the outer court , 140 He spied the fair young child at sport : 145 He thought to train him to the wood ; For , at a word , be it understood , He was always for ill , and never ...
... blood welled freshly from the wound . XII . As he repassed the outer court , 140 He spied the fair young child at sport : 145 He thought to train him to the wood ; For , at a word , be it understood , He was always for ill , and never ...
Common terms and phrases
almagest ancient Anglo-Saxon armour arms ATLAS ballad band bard Beattison beneath Bent sae Brown blaze blood bloodhound Book Border bower Branksome Hall breath Buccleuch bugle CANTO Carlisle wall castle Chaucer clan cloth coursers Cranstoun's cross Dacre dark dead Douglas dread Dwarf Earl English Eskdale F. G. FLEAY Faerie Queene fair on Carlisle Fcap fell fight French GEOGRAPHY German hand harp Hawick heart helmet holy horse iron king knight Ladye Ladye's lances Latin Liddesdale light Lord loud Maps Margaret merry Minstrel minstrelsy moss-trooper Musgrave ne'er o'er Old High German Old Norse Outlaw Murray pale Paradise Lost poetry pride ride rode round Roxburghshire rung Scotland Scott Scottish Seneschal Shakespeare song soul sound spear spelt Spenser spur steed stout sun shines fair sword ta'en tale Teviot's thee thou tide Tinlinn Twas warrior wave ween wild William of Deloraine word
Popular passages
Page 101 - Whose midnight revels, by a forest side, Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course ; they, on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear ; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
Page 77 - 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 burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, From wandering on a foreign strand...
Page 93 - That day of wrath, .that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day ? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! HUSH'D is the harp — the Minstrel...
Page 21 - When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee...
Page 8 - The humble boon was soon obtained: The aged Minstrel audience gained. But when he reached the room of state Where she, with all her ladies, sate. Perchance he wished his boon denied : For when to tune his harp he tried, His trembling hand had lost the ease Which marks security to please; And scenes, long past, of joy and pain.
Page 24 - The moon on the east oriel shone Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined : Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand In many a freakish knot had twined, Then framed a spell when the work was done, And changed the willow wreaths to stone.
Page 7 - Stuarts' throne; The bigots of the iron time Had called his harmless art a crime. A wandering harper, scorned and poor, He begged his bread from door to door, And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, The harp a king had loved to hear.
Page 63 - 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 7 - THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old ; His wither'd cheek, and tresses grey, Seem'd 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 oppress'd...
Page 8 - His timid mien, and reverend face, And bade her page the menials tell, That they should tend the old man well : For she had known adversity, Though born in such a high degree : In pride...