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The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, with a Sketch of His Life
Sir Walter Scott,J W Lake
No preview available - 2015
ancient appear arms band battle bear beneath blood bold Border brave Bruce called castle cause chief close cross dark death deep Douglas dread earl English fair fear fell field fight fire gave give given hall hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hold horse hour Isles James John king knight lady land leave light living look lord maid mark meet morning mountain never noble o'er once pass person pride rest rock round saint scene Scotland Scott Scottish seemed seen side soon sound spear stand steed stone stood strong sword tale tell thee thou thought Till took tower train true turned voice wave wild wind wood young
Page 91 - I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! And if thou said'st, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied...
Page 95 - Edmund is down ; — my life is reft ; — The Admiral alone is left Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost — Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ! Leave Marmion here alone — to die.
Page 81 - 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 bridemaidens whispered, "Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Page 156 - At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends from heaven that fell Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear: For life ! for life ! their...
Page 421 - WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sail be his bride: And ye sail be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen" — But aye she loot the tears down fa
Page 19 - O 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...
Page 202 - I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum My comrades take the spear.
Page 149 - Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. He practised every pass and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed.