A selection from the works of sir Walter Scott. Ed. by M. Collins

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Página 83 - 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 84 - I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied : Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar...
Página 35 - 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 41 - 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 192 - He that is down needs fear no fall; He that is low no pride; He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide.
Página 106 - Dragg"d from among the horses' feet, With dinted shield, and helmet beat, The falcon-crest and plumage gone, Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . . Young Blount his armour did unlace, And, gazing on his ghastly face, Said — " By Saint George, he's gone ! That spear-wound has our master sped, And see the deep cut on his head ! Good-night to Marmion." — " Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease : He opes his eyes...
Página 194 - Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. '"Tell me, thou bonny bird. When shall I marry me?' 'When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye.' '"Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly?' — 'The grey-headed sexton, That delves the grave duly. "The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing, 'Welcome, proud lady.
Página 169 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me yon knew.
Página 84 - 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 102 - Troop after troop are disappearing ; Troop after troop their banners rearing, Upon the eastern bank you see. Still pouring down the rocky den, Where flows the sullen Till, And rising from the dim-wood glen, Standards on standards, men on men, In slow succession still, And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, And pressing on, in ceaseless march, To gain the opposing hill.

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