The Lady of the LakeMaynard, Merrill, & Company, 1908 - 268 páginas |
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Página 45
... thee cling , Muffling with verdant ringlet every string , - O Minstrel Harp , still must thine accents sleep ? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring , Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep , Nor bid a warrior smile ...
... thee cling , Muffling with verdant ringlet every string , - O Minstrel Harp , still must thine accents sleep ? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring , Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep , Nor bid a warrior smile ...
Página 54
... thee hither " ( Macbeth , I. v . 26 ) . In " Hie you to horse " ( Mac- beth , III . i . 34 ) , " you " may be either nominative or objective . 185. their level way . Toward sunset the rays of the sun become more and more nearly ...
... thee hither " ( Macbeth , I. v . 26 ) . In " Hie you to horse " ( Mac- beth , III . i . 34 ) , " you " may be either nominative or objective . 185. their level way . Toward sunset the rays of the sun become more and more nearly ...
Página 72
... thee ! ' He crossed the threshold , and a clang Of angry steel that instant rang . To his bold brow his spirit rushed , But soon for vain alarm he blushed , When on the floor he saw displayed , Cause of the din , a naked blade Dropped ...
... thee ! ' He crossed the threshold , and a clang Of angry steel that instant rang . To his bold brow his spirit rushed , But soon for vain alarm he blushed , When on the floor he saw displayed , Cause of the din , a naked blade Dropped ...
Página 77
... thee lying . Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen How thy gallant steed lay dying . Huntsman , rest ! thy chase is done ; 660 Gold- 642. bittern , a water fowl , something like our loon . smith in his Animated Nature says that of all the ...
... thee lying . Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen How thy gallant steed lay dying . Huntsman , rest ! thy chase is done ; 660 Gold- 642. bittern , a water fowl , something like our loon . smith in his Animated Nature says that of all the ...
Página 83
... thee in royal court , High place in battled line , Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport ! Where beauty sees the brave resort , The honored meed be thine ! True be thy sword , thy friend sincere , Thy lady constant , kind , and dear ...
... thee in royal court , High place in battled line , Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport ! Where beauty sees the brave resort , The honored meed be thine ! True be thy sword , thy friend sincere , Thy lady constant , kind , and dear ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
Términos y frases comunes
Achray Allan aught ballad band battle Beltane Benvenue blade blood bold brand brave breast breath broadsword brow called Canto Castle chase Chief Chieftain clan Clan-Alpine's Conditional mood couch dark deep deer Douglas Doune dread dream Ellen fair father fear Fiery Cross Fitz-James flung Gael gallant glance glen grace Græme gray hand harp heard heart heath heaven Highland hill honor hounds isle James King knight Lady lake Lake of Menteith Loch Achray Loch Katrine Loch Lomond Loch Lubnaig Loch Voil Lomond Lord loud Lowland maid maiden Malcolm Græme Malise Menteith minstrel morning mountain ne'er noble o'er paused Perthshire pibroch plaid poem pride rock Roderick Dhu Saxon Scotland Scott Scottish shallop side sire song sought spear speed stag steed Stirling Stirling Castle strain stranger subjunctive mood sword tartan thee thine thou tide Trosachs Vennachar warrior wave wild wind word
Pasajes populares
Página 100 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Página 18 - Christabel is not, properly speaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its being founded on a new principle: namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not the syllables. Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four.
Página 59 - In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright. Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains that like giants stand To sentinel enchanted land. High on the south, huge Benvenue Down to the lake in masses threw Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled, The fragments of an earlier world...
Página 76 - 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 202 - His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before : — "Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I.
Página 208 - Now, truce, farewell! and ruth begone! — Yet think not that by thee alone, Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. But fear not, doubt not, which thou wilt — We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.
Página 203 - It seemed as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth. The wind's last breath had tossed in air, Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — The next but swept a lone hill-side, Where heath and fern were waving wide ; The sun's last glance was glinted back, From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, — The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green, and cold grey stone.
Página 124 - The mountain-shadows on her breast Were neither broken nor at rest ; In bright uncertainty they lie, Like future joys to Fancy's eye.
Página 34 - I replied to this affectionate expostulation in the words of Montrose, — * " He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all.
Página 146 - The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary!