The poetical works of sir Walter Scott. With life. 8 engr. on steel |
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Página vii
... till he abandoned his profession , and became in 1806 a clerk of Session , an office of trust , with a salary of £ 800 a - year . But Scott's mind was chiefly devoted to other objects than the legal profession . Antiquities , an old ...
... till he abandoned his profession , and became in 1806 a clerk of Session , an office of trust , with a salary of £ 800 a - year . But Scott's mind was chiefly devoted to other objects than the legal profession . Antiquities , an old ...
Página ix
... till 1829 ; Glen- finlas , the Eve of St John , the Gray Brother , and the Fire King , ballads which smack of the old Border spirit , were his next productions . It was the publication of the Border Minstrelsy , however , and of Sir ...
... till 1829 ; Glen- finlas , the Eve of St John , the Gray Brother , and the Fire King , ballads which smack of the old Border spirit , were his next productions . It was the publication of the Border Minstrelsy , however , and of Sir ...
Página xvii
... and in the full vigour of former years . The heavy debt lay like a mountain on his heart , but he struggled on , publishing volume after volume , till both mind and body gave way under the burden . An LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT . xvii.
... and in the full vigour of former years . The heavy debt lay like a mountain on his heart , but he struggled on , publishing volume after volume , till both mind and body gave way under the burden . An LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT . xvii.
Página 4
... Till every string's according glee Was blended into harmony . And then , he said , he would full fain He could recall an ancient strain , He never thought to sing again . It was not framed for village churls , But for high dames and ...
... Till every string's according glee Was blended into harmony . And then , he said , he would full fain He could recall an ancient strain , He never thought to sing again . It was not framed for village churls , But for high dames and ...
Página 13
... Till gallant Cessford's heart - blood dear Reek'd on dark Elliot's Border spear . ΧΧΧΙ . In bitter mood he spurred fast , And soon the hated heath was past ; And far beneath , in lustre wan , Old Melros ' rose , and fair Tweed ran ...
... Till gallant Cessford's heart - blood dear Reek'd on dark Elliot's Border spear . ΧΧΧΙ . In bitter mood he spurred fast , And soon the hated heath was past ; And far beneath , in lustre wan , Old Melros ' rose , and fair Tweed ran ...
Términos y frases comunes
ancient arms bade band Baron battle beneath Bertram blood blood-hound bold bower brand brave breast Brignall brow castle chase clan courser dark deep Deloraine Denzil Douglas dread Earl Earl of Angus English Ettrick Forest fair fear fell fight fire gallant glance Græme grey Guenever hall hand harp hast hath head hear heard heart heaven holy horse hound King knight lady land light Loch Katrine lonely Lord Marmion loud maid mark'd Matilda minstrel morning Mortham mountain ne'er noble o'er pale pass'd pride proud Redmond Risingham Roderick Rokeby Rokeby's round rung Saint scarce Scotland Scottish seem'd shade show'd Sir Launcelot sire smiled song sought soul sound spear steed stern stood stream sword tale Tamworth tell thee thine Thomas Gray THOMAS THE RHYMER thou tide tower turn'd Twas voice wake warrior wave ween wild Wilfrid wind wood youth
Pasajes populares
Página 141 - 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...
Página 54 - 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 concentered 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.
Página 47 - 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 14 - 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 209 - Some feelings are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than heaven ; And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head...
Página 140 - River where ford there was none : But ere he alighted at Netherby gate The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
Página 179 - 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 65 - 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...
Página 75 - DAY set on Norham's castled steep, And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, And Cheviot's mountains lone : The battled towers, the donjon keep, The loophole grates, where captives weep, The flanking walls that round it sweep, In yellow lustre shone.
Página 349 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green. — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me you knew. ' This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again.