The Lay of the Last MinstrelJoseph Cushing. William Fry, printer., 1812 - 350 sider |
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Side 16
... Teviot's maids and matrons lent : But o'er her warrior's bloody bier The Ladye dropped nor flower nor tear ! Vengeance , deep brooding o'er the slain , Had locked the source of softer wo ; And burning pride , and high disdain , Forbade ...
... Teviot's maids and matrons lent : But o'er her warrior's bloody bier The Ladye dropped nor flower nor tear ! Vengeance , deep brooding o'er the slain , Had locked the source of softer wo ; And burning pride , and high disdain , Forbade ...
Side 20
... Teviot's tide , and Branksome's tower , Till pride be quelled , and love be free . " XVIII . The unearthly voices ceast , And the heavy sound was still ; It died on the river's breast , It died on the side of the hill . But round lord ...
... Teviot's tide , and Branksome's tower , Till pride be quelled , and love be free . " XVIII . The unearthly voices ceast , And the heavy sound was still ; It died on the river's breast , It died on the side of the hill . But round lord ...
Side 22
... Teviot clear ; Ere break of day , " the warrior ' gan say , " Again will I be here : And safer by none may thy errand be done , Than , noble dame , by me ; Letter nor line know I never a one , Wer't 22 Canto I. THE LAY OF.
... Teviot clear ; Ere break of day , " the warrior ' gan say , " Again will I be here : And safer by none may thy errand be done , Than , noble dame , by me ; Letter nor line know I never a one , Wer't 22 Canto I. THE LAY OF.
Side 23
... Teviot side , And , guided by the tinkling rill , Northward the dark ascent did ride , And gained the moor at Horselie hill ; * Hairibee , the place of executing the Border marauders at Carlisle . The neck - verse is the beginning of ...
... Teviot side , And , guided by the tinkling rill , Northward the dark ascent did ride , And gained the moor at Horselie hill ; * Hairibee , the place of executing the Border marauders at Carlisle . The neck - verse is the beginning of ...
Side 16
... Teviot's maids and matrons lent : But o'er her warrior's bloody bier The Ladye dropped nor flower nor tear ! Vengeance , deep brooding o'er the slain , Had locked the source of softer wo ; And burning pride , and high disdain , Forbade ...
... Teviot's maids and matrons lent : But o'er her warrior's bloody bier The Ladye dropped nor flower nor tear ! Vengeance , deep brooding o'er the slain , Had locked the source of softer wo ; And burning pride , and high disdain , Forbade ...
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ancient arms band bards baron Beattisons beneath betwixt blaze blood blood-hound Border bower Branksome hall Branksome's towers brave Buccleuch called CANTO castle chief clan courser Cranstoun crest cross Cumberland dæmon Dame dark dead Douglas dread Earl EARL OF DALKEITH Eildon Hills English Eskdale Ettricke Ettricke Forest falchions father Fawdon fight hand harp Hawick heard heart highnes horse Howard iron Jedburgh king knight Ladye lance lands LAST MINSTREL Liddesdale Lord Cranstoun loud Melrose Melrose Abbey Michael Scott MINSTREL minstrelsy monk Moss-troopers Musgrave ne'er noble Note o'er Poem pride ride rode round rung Saint sayd Scotland Scots Scottish Scottish Border seemed shulde slain sound spear spirit spur squire steed stone stood sword tear Teviot's thee theyme theyre Thomas Musgrave thou tide Tinlinn Twas Virgilius Walter Scott warden warrior ween wild William of Deloraine word wound
Populære passager
Side 67 - 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 dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
Side 67 - 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...
Side 52 - 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.
Side 68 - 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 ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand...
Side 3 - In peace. Love tunes the shepherd's reed; In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above; For love is heaven, and heaven is love.
Side 86 - 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...
Side 79 - 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...
Side 80 - 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.
Side 45 - 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...