The poetical works of sir Walter Scott. Illustr. by F. Gilbert

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Página 18 - 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.
Página 67 - O Woman ! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!
Página 22 - 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 ! Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill.
Página 68 - O'er their thin host and wounded King. Then skilful Surrey's sage commands Led back from strife his shattered bands ; And from the charge they drew, As mountain-waves, from wasted lands, Sweep back to ocean blue. Then did their loss his foemen know ; Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low, They melted from the field, as snow, When streams are swoln and south winds blow, Dissolves in silent dew.
Página 246 - How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start ? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number, Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? And oh ! was it meet that — no requiem read o'er him, No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him — Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart...
Página 68 - But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, Though billmen ply the ghastly blow, Unbroken was the ring; The stubborn spearmen still made good Their dark impenetrable wood, Each stepping where his comrade stood The instant that he fell. No thought was there of dastard flight; Linked in the serried phalanx tight, Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, As fearlessly and well...
Página 8 - 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.
Página 232 - Harp and carp along with me ; And if ye dare to kiss my lips, Sure of your bodie I will be." "Betide me weal, betide me woe, That weird shall never danton me." Syne he has kissed her rosy lips. All underneath the Eildon Tree.
Página 19 - 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.
Página 82 - The sportive toil, which, short and light, Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, Served too in hastier swell to show Short glimpses of a breast of snow : What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had trained her pace, — A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew; E'en the slight harebell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread...

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