The Lay of the Last MinstrelHoughton, Mifflin, 1886 - 241 Seiten |
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The Lay of the Last Minstrel: A Poem, in Six Cantos (Classic Reprint) Walter Scott Keine Leseprobe verfügbar - 2017 |
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
Abbey ancient armor arms ballad band bard Baron beneath betwixt blood Border bower Branksome Branksome Hall Branksome's Buccleuch called CANTO Carlisle castle chapel chief Clair clan courser Cranstoun cross dame dead Deloraine Douglas Duke Earl Earl of Angus early eds Eildon Hills English Eskdale Ettrick Ettrick Forest fair friends goblin hall hand Harden harp Hawick heard hill horse introd Jedburgh King Kirkwall knight Lady Ladye Laird land Liddesdale manner Margaret Marmion Melrose Melrose Abbey Michael Scott Minstrel Minstrelsy moss-trooper Musgrave Naworth Castle ne'er noble o'er poem poetry ride rode romance Roslin round Saint Saint Modan sayd Scotland Scots Scott says Scottish Scottish Border seems Shakespeare shew shulde Sir William slain song spear Spenser spirit steed sword Teviot thee Thirlestane Thomas Musgrave thou Tinlinn tomb tower tyme Virgilius Walter warrior wild William of Deloraine word wound Yarrow
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 127 - 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 ? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! HUSH'D is the harp — the Minstrel...
Seite 96 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven : It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.
Seite 122 - Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle! And each Saint Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.
Seite 120 - The blackening wave is edged with white : To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh.
Seite 23 - In Eske or Liddel fords were none But he would ride them, one by one ; Alike to him was time or tide, December's snow or July's pride ; Alike to him was tide or time, Moonless midnight or matin prime : Steady of heart and stout of hand As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; Five times outlawed had he been By England's king and Scotland's queen.
Seite 108 - 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...
Seite 34 - The moon on the east oriel shone Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand In many a freakish knot had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow wreaths to stone.
Seite 159 - A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.
Seite 188 - His fellow's winded horn not one of them but knew, When setting to their lips their little bugles shrill, The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill: Their baldrics set with studs, athwart their shoulders cast, To which under their arms their sheafs were buckled fast, A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span, Who struck below the knee, not counted then a man : All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong ; They not an arrow drew but was a cloth-yard long. Of archery...
Seite 107 - 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?