The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott: With a Sketch of His Life

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J. Crissy, 1838 - 443 pages
 

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Page 93 - I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! And if thou said'st, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied...
Page 83 - River where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Nethe'rby 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.
Page 97 - Edmund is down ; my life is reft ; The Admiral alone is left Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost Must I bid twice ? hence, varlets ! fly ! Leave Marmion here alone to die.
Page 83 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bridemaidens whispered, "Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Page 158 - At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends from heaven that fell Had pealed 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...
Page 423 - 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 21 - O Caledonia ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand...
Page 204 - I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum My comrades take the spear.
Page 151 - Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. He practised every pass and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
Page 150 - Sir Roderick marked and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel. Short space he stood then waved his hand: Down sunk the disappearing band; Each warrior...

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