THE POETICAL WORKS OS=F SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART

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Página 184 - He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske 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. So boldly he...
Página 185 - mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Página 185 - 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 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 ? If such there breathe, go mark him well...
Página 185 - She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could ' bar ; " Now tread we a measure,
Página 254 - 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 255 - Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done ; While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not, with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille.
Página 218 - twere not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head ! And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, He, who does 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...
Página 233 - To break the Scottish circle deep, That fought around their King. But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, Though bill-men 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 ; Till...
Página 16 - IF thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moon-light ; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.

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