The Novels and Poems of Sir Walter Scott: Poems and ballads

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Page 85 - He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.
Page 28 - But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress...
Page 244 - TIS done— but yesterday a King ! And arm'd with Kings to strive — And now thou art a nameless thing : So abject — yet alive ! Is this the man of thousand thrones, Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones, And can he thus survive ? Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star, Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
Page 70 - I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space, Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud. The rock, like something starting from a sleep, Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again: That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-Scar, And the tall Steep of Silver-How sent forth A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard, And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone...
Page 281 - Come away, come away, Hark to the summons ! Come in your war array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlocky.
Page 276 - WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sail be his bride: And ye sail be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen" — But aye she loot the tears down fa
Page 30 - That man of loneliness and mystery, Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh ; Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew, And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue ; Still sways their souls with that commanding art That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
Page 225 - Stop ! for thy tread is on an Empire's dust ! An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, As the ground was before, thus let it be ; — How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory?
Page 115 - Where, as to shame the temples deck'd By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise A Minster to her Maker's praise ! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend ; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tone prolong'd and high, That mocks the organ's melody.
Page 165 - Looking tranquillity ! It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight ; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice — my own affrights me with its echoes.

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