The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott: With a Memoir of the Author, Volume 2Little, Brown, 1857 - English poetry |
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Page 14
... Twas then I thought , how , lured to come , As partner of his wealth and home , Years of piratic wandering o'er , With him I sought our native shore . But Mortham's lord grew far estranged From the bold heart with whom he ranged ...
... Twas then I thought , how , lured to come , As partner of his wealth and home , Years of piratic wandering o'er , With him I sought our native shore . But Mortham's lord grew far estranged From the bold heart with whom he ranged ...
Page 15
... Twas then , midst tumult , smoke , and strife , Where each man fought for death or life , ' Twas then I fired my petronel , And Mortham , steed and rider , fell . One dying look he upward cast Of wrath and anguish -'t was his last ...
... Twas then , midst tumult , smoke , and strife , Where each man fought for death or life , ' Twas then I fired my petronel , And Mortham , steed and rider , fell . One dying look he upward cast Of wrath and anguish -'t was his last ...
Page 38
... Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; That summer morn shone blithe and gay ; But morning beam , and wild - bird's call , Awaked not Mortham's silent hall . No porter , by the low - browed gate , Took in the wonted niche his seat ; To the ...
... Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; That summer morn shone blithe and gay ; But morning beam , and wild - bird's call , Awaked not Mortham's silent hall . No porter , by the low - browed gate , Took in the wonted niche his seat ; To the ...
Page 40
... Twas Mortham's form , from foot to head ! His morion , with the plume of red , His shape , his mien ' twas Mortham , right As when I slew him in the fight . " - - [ start " Thou slay him ? thou ? " With conscious He heard , then mann'd ...
... Twas Mortham's form , from foot to head ! His morion , with the plume of red , His shape , his mien ' twas Mortham , right As when I slew him in the fight . " - - [ start " Thou slay him ? thou ? " With conscious He heard , then mann'd ...
Page 41
... Twas Mortham's bearing , bold and high , His sinewy frame , his falcon eye , His look and accent of command , The martial gesture of his hand , His stately form , spare - built and tall , His war - bleached locks - ' twas Mortham all ...
... Twas Mortham's bearing , bold and high , His sinewy frame , his falcon eye , His look and accent of command , The martial gesture of his hand , His stately form , spare - built and tall , His war - bleached locks - ' twas Mortham all ...
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Common terms and phrases
Allan-a-Dale Argentine arms bade band banner barbed horse beneath Bertram blood bold bore bower brand brave breast bright Brignall broadsword brow Bruce castle cheek dare dark deep Denzil dread drew Edward Bruce fair faith falchion fame fate fear fell fierce fight flame gallant gave gazed glance glow gold grace gray Greta's hall hand Harold harp hast hath hauberk hear heard heart Heaven heir hour Isabel King King Arthur knight land light lone look Lord Lorn loud maid maiden Matilda minstrel Monarch mood morning mortal Mortham ne'er noble o'er pale pause Prelate pride Redmond Risingham rock Rokeby Rokeby's Ronald round Saint Saint Cuthbert scorn seemed shore sire smile song sought soul sound spear spoke steed stern stood stream strife sword tale tell thee thine thou tide tower train Twas wake Warrior wassail wave ween wild Wilfrid youth
Popular passages
Page 60 - Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen.' 'If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we, That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shall thou speed, As blithe as Queen of May.' Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there,...
Page 70 - 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 you knew. "This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ;* But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again.
Page 207 - But here, — above, around, below, On mountain or in glen, Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, Nor aught of vegetative power, The weary eye may ken. For all is rocks at random thrown, Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone...
Page 59 - I'm with my comrades met, Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now. CHORUS. " Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.
Page 229 - Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, And lonely Colonsay ; — Scenes sung by him who sings no more ! His bright and' brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strains ; Quenched is his lamp of varied lore That loved the light of song to pour ; A distant and a deadly shore Has LEYDEN'S cold remains ! XII.
Page 60 - Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay ; I would I were with Edmund there To reign his Queen of May ! ' With burnish'd brand and musketoon So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold Dragoon That lists the tuck of drum.
Page 61 - Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die; The fiend whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I ! And when I'm with my comrades met Beneath the greenwood bough, — What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now.' Chorus 'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.
Page 71 - Ravensworth 3 prances in pride, And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. The mere for his net, and the land for his game, The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, Are less...
Page 72 - Allen-a-Dale. The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : He had...
Page 152 - Tis in the churchyard now — the tread Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, Return the tramp in varied tone. All eyes upon the gateway hung, When through the Gothic arch there sprung A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed — Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed.