The Waverley Dramas: A Series of the Original Plays Founded on the Novels of Sir Walter Scott, Bart

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Alison & Ross, 1872 - 416 páginas

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Página 324 - This tale will not be told in vain, if it shall be found to illustrate the great truth, that guilt, though it may attain temporal splendour, can never 2D confer real happiness ; that the evil consequences of our crimes long survive their commission, and, like the ghosts of the murdered, for ever haunt the steps of the malefactor; and that the paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, are always those of pleasantness and peace.
Página 169 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I: And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a
Página 58 - Saxon gentlemen are laughing," he said, " because a poor man, such as me, thinks my life, or the life of six of my degree, is worth that of Vich Ian Vohr, it's like enough they may be very right ; but if they laugh because they think I would not keep my word, and come back to redeem him, I can tell them they ken neither the heart of a Hielandman, nor the honour of a gentleman.
Página 47 - And he will refit the old library in the most exquisite Gothic taste, and garnish its shelves with the rarest and most valuable volumes; and he will draw plans and landscapes, and write verses and rear temples, and dig grottoes; and he will stand in a clear summer night in the colonnade before the hall, and gaze on the deer as they stray in the moonlight, or lie shadowed by the boughs of the huge old fantastic oaks; and he will repeat verses to his beautiful wife, who will hang upon his arm...
Página 94 - Nor board nor garner own we now, Nor roof nor latched door. Nor kind mate, bound, by holy vow, To bless a good man's store. Noon lulls us in a gloomy den, And night is grown our day; Uprouse ye, then, my merry men! And use it as ye may.
Página 84 - O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, When thy sleep...
Página 8 - Hie away, hie away, Over bank and over brae, Where the copsewood is the greenest, Where the fountains glisten sheenest, Where the lady-fern grows strongest, Where the morning dew lies longest, Where the black-cock sweetest sips it, Where the fairy latest trips it. Hie to haunts right seldom seen, Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green, Over bank and over brae, Hie away, hie away. 'Do the verses he sings...
Página 25 - Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake! "Tis the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; Tis the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the hall. 'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath ; They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.
Página 68 - I have not the heart to look at them, making merry on the orphan's substance ! the property that should, by right, belong to poor Miss Bertram ! If it were not that we victuallers must keep open doors to all cattle, I'd soon clear the house of them. I trust, Miss Bertram will not come up till to-morrow ; I would not for a silver pound she found them ranting and rioting here. (Knocking heard without.) And there she is, I doubt.
Página 90 - Now the devil take all the glib-tongued ladies' maids ! would any one have thought, to hear that chattering monkey, that I'd more to do than just to follow my nose straight across the heath, to this Kip-Kap-Kapple — What the devil did she call the place ? And here I am, fairly thrown out. The moon's going down, too, and I may stray further out of my way.

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