The lady of the lake, by sir W. Scott. With all his intrs., various readings, and the editor's notes. Illustr. by B. Foster and J. Gilbert |
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
Allan Alpine's band battle Benvenue BIRKET FOSTER blade blood bold brand Brantome brave broadsword brow called CANTO castle chase chief Chieftain clan Clan-Alpine's copse dark deep deer desperate Douglas drew Earl of Angus Ellen fair fairy fear Fiery Cross Fitz-James flung gallant glance glen grace hand harp hear heard heart heath Highland hill hounds isle James JOHN GILBERT John Gunn King knight Lady lake Loch Achray Loch Katrine Loch Voil lone Lord loud Lowland maid maiden Malcolm Græme Malise mark'd merry Minstrel morning mountain MS.-And MS.-The ne'er noble numbers o'er pass Perthshire pibroch plaid pride rock Roderick Dhu round Rowland Yorke rude Saxon Scotland Scottish seem'd shallop side sire snood song sound spear speed stag steed Stirling Stirling Castle stood stranger sword tear thee thine thou tide turn'd Twas Urisk warrior wave wild wind
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 41 - In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land.
Seite 63 - 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.
Seite 143 - 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. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber.
Seite 26 - The antler'd monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took, The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; Like crested leader proud and high...
Seite 141 - 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.
Seite 119 - TIME rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be ! How few, all weak and withered of their force, Wait, on the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course.
Seite 229 - Returned the chief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before : " Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I.
Seite 305 - s the life is meet for me. ' I hate to learn the ebb of time From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, Inch after inch, along the wall. The lark was wont my matins ring, The sable rook my vespers sing, These...
Seite 36 - I little thought, when first thy rein I slacked upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle e'er should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant grey ! ' Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds.
Seite 241 - And locked his arms his foeman round. Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel Through bars of brass and triple steel ! They tug, they strain ! down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitzjames below.