The Lady of the Lake: A PoemMason, Baker & Pratt, 1873 - 300 páginas |
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Página 27
... corn fields , and farm houses . On the 1sft , few marks of cultivation are to be seen . " Farther on , the traveller passes along the verge of the lake JJ But nearer was the copsewood grey , That waved and Canto I. 27 THE CHASE .
... corn fields , and farm houses . On the 1sft , few marks of cultivation are to be seen . " Farther on , the traveller passes along the verge of the lake JJ But nearer was the copsewood grey , That waved and Canto I. 27 THE CHASE .
Página 28
A Poem Walter Scott. But nearer was the copsewood grey , That waved and wept on Loch - Achray , And mingled with the pine - trees blue On the bold cliffs of Benvenue . Fresh vigour with the hope return'd , With flying foot the heath he ...
A Poem Walter Scott. But nearer was the copsewood grey , That waved and wept on Loch - Achray , And mingled with the pine - trees blue On the bold cliffs of Benvenue . Fresh vigour with the hope return'd , With flying foot the heath he ...
Página 33
... grey ! " X. Then through the dell his horn resounds , From vain pursuit to call the hounds . Back limp'd , with slow and crippled pace , The sulky leaders of the chase ; Close to their master's side they press'd , With drooping tail and ...
... grey ! " X. Then through the dell his horn resounds , From vain pursuit to call the hounds . Back limp'd , with slow and crippled pace , The sulky leaders of the chase ; Close to their master's side they press'd , With drooping tail and ...
Página 35
... Grey birch and aspen wept beneath ; Aloft , the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; And , higher yet , the pine - tree hung His shatter'd trunk , and frequent flung , Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high , His boughs ...
... Grey birch and aspen wept beneath ; Aloft , the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; And , higher yet , the pine - tree hung His shatter'd trunk , and frequent flung , Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high , His boughs ...
Página 37
... grey ; How blithely might the bugle - horn Chide , on the lake , the lingering morn ! How sweet , at eve , the lover's lute Chime , when the groves were still and mute ! 1 [ Benvenue — is literally the little mountain - i . e . as con ...
... grey ; How blithely might the bugle - horn Chide , on the lake , the lingering morn ! How sweet , at eve , the lover's lute Chime , when the groves were still and mute ! 1 [ Benvenue — is literally the little mountain - i . e . as con ...
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Términos y frases comunes
agen Allan Alpine's arms ballad band bard battle Benvenue blade blood bold brand Brantome brave breast broadsword brow called CANTO castle chase chief Chieftain clan Clan-Alpine's dark deep deer Douglas dread drew Duergar edition Ellen fair fairy fear Fiery Cross Fitz-James Gael gallant glance glen grace GREENLEAF'S grey hand harp head hear heard heart heath Highland hill hounds isle James John Gunn King king's LADY lake land Loch Katrine Loch Voil Lord loud Lowland Macgregor maid maiden Malise merry Minstrel morning Morocco mortal mountain ne'er night noble Note o'er pass Perthshire pibroch plaid pride Rob Roy rock Roderick Dhu round Rowland Yorke Saxon Scotland Scottish seem'd side sire snood song sound spear speed stag steed Stirling Stirling Castle stood stranger sword tear thee thine thou tide turn'd Urisk warrior wave wild word
Pasajes populares
Página 119 - He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Página 52 - She sung, and still a harp unseen Fill'd up the symphony between.* XXXI " Soldier, rest I 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 53 - 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 79 - Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back agen, " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe...
Página 9 - 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 237 - And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear. Onward they drive, in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursued; Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall it keep its rooted place, The spearmen's twilight wood?— 'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down!
Página 236 - At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell! Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear: For life ! for life ! their flight they ply— And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broad-swords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear.
Página 197 - But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came, To turn the odds of deadly game : For, while the dagger gleamed on high, Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. Down came the blow ! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
Página 214 - Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye? With every minute you do change a mind And call him noble that was now your hate, Him vile that was your garland.
Página 41 - Above a heart more good and kind. Her kindness and her worth to spy, You need but gaze on Ellen's eye; Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, Gives back the shaggy banks more true, Than every free-born glance confess'd The guileless movements of her breast ; Whether joy danced in her dark eye, Or woe or pity claim'da sigh, Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion pour'da prayer, Or tale of injury call'd forth The indignant spirit of the North.