The Lay of the Last Minstrel: A PoemLongman, 1806 - 332 páginas |
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Página 59
... John , Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! " The Monk returned him to his cell , And many a prayer and penance sped ; When the convent met at the noontide bell- The Monk of St Mary's aisle was dead ! Before the cross was the ...
... John , Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! " The Monk returned him to his cell , And many a prayer and penance sped ; When the convent met at the noontide bell- The Monk of St Mary's aisle was dead ! Before the cross was the ...
Página 67
... John of Thirlestaine , And thither came William of Deloraine ; They were three hundred spears and three . Through Douglas - burn , up Yarrow stream , Their horses prance , their lances gleam . They came to St Mary's lake ere day ; But ...
... John of Thirlestaine , And thither came William of Deloraine ; They were three hundred spears and three . Through Douglas - burn , up Yarrow stream , Their horses prance , their lances gleam . They came to St Mary's lake ere day ; But ...
Página 221
... John Spens , wha was principal deviser of the murder ; and the Quene , assenting thairto , throw the per- suasioun of the Erle Bothwell , and the witchcraft of Lady Buckleuch . " He learned the art , that none may name , In Padua , far ...
... John Spens , wha was principal deviser of the murder ; and the Quene , assenting thairto , throw the per- suasioun of the Erle Bothwell , and the witchcraft of Lady Buckleuch . " He learned the art , that none may name , In Padua , far ...
Página 234
... is remarkable , that Liliesclive , otherwise Rydale , or Riddel , and the Whettunes , have descended , through a long train of ancestors , without ever passing into a collateral line , to the person of Sir John Buchanan Riddell , bart 234.
... is remarkable , that Liliesclive , otherwise Rydale , or Riddel , and the Whettunes , have descended , through a long train of ancestors , without ever passing into a collateral line , to the person of Sir John Buchanan Riddell , bart 234.
Página 235
A Poem Walter Scott. to the person of Sir John Buchanan Riddell , bart . of Riddell , the lineal descendant and representative of Sir Anschittil . These circumstances appeared worthy of notice in a Border work . As glanced his eye o'er ...
A Poem Walter Scott. to the person of Sir John Buchanan Riddell , bart . of Riddell , the lineal descendant and representative of Sir Anschittil . These circumstances appeared worthy of notice in a Border work . As glanced his eye o'er ...
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Términos y frases comunes
ancient arms band bard Baron beneath betwixt Bewcastle blaze blood blood-hound Border Branksome Branksome Hall Branksome's Buccleuch bugle called CANTO castle Cessford chapel chief clan courser crest cross Cumberland dæmons Dame dead death Douglas dread Duke Earl Earl of Angus Eildon hills English Ettricke Ettricke Forest fair on Carlisle Fawdon fight hall hand harp Hawick head heard highnes horse Howard iron James Jedburgh king Kirkwall knight Ladye laird lance lands LAST MINSTREL Liddesdale Lord Dacre Melrose Michael MINSTREL moss-trooper Musgrave Naworth Castle ne'er noble o'er ride rode Roslin round rung sayd Scotland Scots Scottish Scottish Border shew shulde Sir William slain song spear St Clair steed stone stood sun shines fair sword Teviot's Teviotdale thee theyme theyre Thomas Musgrave thou Tinlinn tomb tower Twas tyme Virgilius Walter Scott warden warrior ween wild William of Deloraine wound
Pasajes populares
Página 169 - 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; 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, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And,...
Página 191 - 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.
Página 11 - Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry ; For, well-a-day ! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead ; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest.
Página 19 - Ten of them were sheathed in steel, With belted sword, and spur on heel : They quitted not their harness bright, Neither by day, nor yet by night...
Página 15 - Where she, with all her ladies, sate, Perchance he wished his boon denied: For, when to tune his harp he tried, His trembling hand had lost the ease Which marks security to please; And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, Came wildering o'er his aged brain — He tried to tune his harp in vain.
Página 13 - Newark's stately tower Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower: The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — No humbler resting-place was nigh: With hesitating step at last, The embattled portal arch he pass'd, Whose ponderous grate and massy bar Had oft roll'd back the tide of war, But never closed the iron door Against the desolate and poor.
Página 200 - 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...
Página 136 - Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn Those things inanimate can mourn ; But that the stream, the wood, the gale, Is vocal with the plaintive wail Of those, who, else forgotten long, Lived in the poet's faithful song, And, with the poet's parting breath, Whose memory feels a second death.
Página 19 - They quitted not their harness bright Neither by day nor yet by night • They lay down to rest, With corslet laced, Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred.
Página 191 - Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide, If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle.