The poetical works of sir Walter Scott. With memoir of the author |
Dentro del libro
Resultados 1-5 de 89
Página xi
... Twas pity . Oh , had he been content to help his friend still further , without caring to help himself ! But Scott was enterprising . He had a poet's prescience . He was a " mar . of business , " yet he was a poet . Imagination must ...
... Twas pity . Oh , had he been content to help his friend still further , without caring to help himself ! But Scott was enterprising . He had a poet's prescience . He was a " mar . of business , " yet he was a poet . Imagination must ...
Página 14
... twas silence all ; He meetly stabled his steed in stall , And sought the convent's lonely wall . HERE paused the harp ; and with its swell The Master's fire and courage fell : Dejectedly , and low , he bowed , And , gazing timid on the ...
... twas silence all ; He meetly stabled his steed in stall , And sought the convent's lonely wall . HERE paused the harp ; and with its swell The Master's fire and courage fell : Dejectedly , and low , he bowed , And , gazing timid on the ...
Página 20
... twas said to me . XXIII . " Now , hie thee hence , " the Father said , " And when we are on death - bed laid , O may our dear Ladye , and sweet St. John , Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! " - The Monk returned him to his ...
... twas said to me . XXIII . " Now , hie thee hence , " the Father said , " And when we are on death - bed laid , O may our dear Ladye , and sweet St. John , Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! " - The Monk returned him to his ...
Página 22
... Twas said , when the Baron a - hunting rode Through Reedsdale's glens , but rarely trod , He heard a voice cry , " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " And , like tennis - ball by racket tossed . A leap , of thirty feet and three , Made from the ...
... Twas said , when the Baron a - hunting rode Through Reedsdale's glens , but rarely trod , He heard a voice cry , " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " And , like tennis - ball by racket tossed . A leap , of thirty feet and three , Made from the ...
Página 30
... Twas near the time of curfew bell ; The air was mild , the wind was calm , The stream was smooth , the dew was balm ; E'en the rude watchman , on the tower , Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour . * Bandelier , belt for carrying ...
... Twas near the time of curfew bell ; The air was mild , the wind was calm , The stream was smooth , the dew was balm ; E'en the rude watchman , on the tower , Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour . * Bandelier , belt for carrying ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Términos y frases comunes
ancient Argentine arms bade band banner battle beneath Bertram blood blood-hound bold bower brand Branksome Hall brave breast bright brow Bruce castle cheer Chieftain clan courser crest Dæmon dark deep Deloraine Douglas dread drew Edinburgh Annual Ettricke Forest fair falchion fame fear fell fierce fight fire gallant glance glen grace grey Grey Brother hall hand harp hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hill holy honoured isle King knight lady land light lonely look Lord Marmion Lorn loud maid minstrel monarch Mortham moss-trooper mountain ne'er noble Norham o'er pale pride Redmond Risingham Roderick Rokeby's Ronald round rude rung Saint Saint Hilda Saxon scarce Scotland Scottish shore shout sire song sought soul sound spear steed stern stood strain strife sword tale tell thee thine thou tide toil tower Twas twixt wake warrior wave ween wild Wilfrid wind youth
Pasajes populares
Página 154 - O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
Página 56 - 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...
Página 154 - One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,
Página 154 - I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide, And now I am 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.
Página 12 - 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...
Página 240 - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Página 181 - England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate : And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your...
Página 212 - 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.
Página 194 - While many a broken band Disordered through her currents dash, To gain the Scottish land ; To town and tower, to down and dale, To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, And raise the universal wail. Tradition, legend, tune, and song Shall many an age that wail prolong ; Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stern strife and carnage drear Of Flodden's fatal field. Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear And broken was her shield ! xxxv.
Página 64 - And glimmered all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St Clair.