The Lay of the Last Minstrel: A PoemLongman, 1806 - 332 Seiten |
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Seite 17
... Branksome tower , And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower ; Her bower , that was guarded by word and by spell , Deadly to hear , and deadly to tell- Jesu Maria , shield us well ! No living wight , save the Ladye alone , Had dared to ...
... Branksome tower , And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower ; Her bower , that was guarded by word and by spell , Deadly to hear , and deadly to tell- Jesu Maria , shield us well ! No living wight , save the Ladye alone , Had dared to ...
Seite 18
... Branksome Hall ; Nine - and - twenty squires of name Brought them their steeds from bower to stall ; Nine - and - twenty yeomen tall Waited , duteous , on them all : They were all knights of mettle true , Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch ...
... Branksome Hall ; Nine - and - twenty squires of name Brought them their steeds from bower to stall ; Nine - and - twenty yeomen tall Waited , duteous , on them all : They were all knights of mettle true , Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch ...
Seite 20
... Branksome's lordly towers , From Warkworth , or Naworth , or merry Carlisle . VII . Such is the custom of Branksome Hall.- Many a valiant knight is here ; But he , the Chieftain of them all , His sword hangs rusting on the wall , Beside ...
... Branksome's lordly towers , From Warkworth , or Naworth , or merry Carlisle . VII . Such is the custom of Branksome Hall.- Many a valiant knight is here ; But he , the Chieftain of them all , His sword hangs rusting on the wall , Beside ...
Seite 21
... Branksome fell . VIII . Can piety the discord heal , Or staunch the death - feud's enmity ? Can Christian lore , can patriot zeal , Can love of blessed charity ? No ! vainly to each holy shrine , In mutual pilgrimage , they drew ...
... Branksome fell . VIII . Can piety the discord heal , Or staunch the death - feud's enmity ? Can Christian lore , can patriot zeal , Can love of blessed charity ? No ! vainly to each holy shrine , In mutual pilgrimage , they drew ...
Seite 25
... Branksome's turrets round ? XIII . At the sullen , moaning sound , The ban - dogs bay and howl ; And , from the turrets round , Loud whoops the startled owl . In the hall , both squire and knight Swore that a storm was near , And looked ...
... Branksome's turrets round ? XIII . At the sullen , moaning sound , The ban - dogs bay and howl ; And , from the turrets round , Loud whoops the startled owl . In the hall , both squire and knight Swore that a storm was near , And looked ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
ancient arms band bard Baron beneath betwixt Bewcastle blaze blood blood-hound Border Branksome Branksome Hall Branksome's Buccleuch bugle called CANTO castle Cessford chapel chief clan courser crest cross Cumberland dæmons Dame dead death Douglas dread Duke Earl Earl of Angus Eildon hills English Ettricke Ettricke Forest fair on Carlisle Fawdon fight hall hand harp Hawick head heard highnes horse Howard iron James Jedburgh king Kirkwall knight Ladye laird lance lands LAST MINSTREL Liddesdale Lord Dacre Melrose Michael MINSTREL moss-trooper Musgrave Naworth Castle ne'er noble o'er ride rode Roslin round rung sayd Scotland Scots Scottish Scottish Border shew shulde Sir William slain song spear St Clair steed stone stood sun shines fair sword Teviot's Teviotdale thee theyme theyre Thomas Musgrave thou Tinlinn tomb tower Twas tyme Virgilius Walter Scott warden warrior ween wild William of Deloraine wound
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 169 - 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 ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, $ Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And,...
Seite 191 - Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze; when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St. Clair.
Seite 11 - Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry ; For, well-a-day ! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead ; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest.
Seite 19 - Ten of them were sheathed in steel, With belted sword, and spur on heel : They quitted not their harness bright, Neither by day, nor yet by night...
Seite 15 - Where she, with all her ladies, sate, Perchance he wished his boon denied: For, when to tune his harp he tried, His trembling hand had lost the ease Which marks security to please; And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, Came wildering o'er his aged brain — He tried to tune his harp in vain.
Seite 13 - Newark's stately tower Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower: The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — No humbler resting-place was nigh: With hesitating step at last, The embattled portal arch he pass'd, Whose ponderous grate and massy bar Had oft roll'd back the tide of war, But never closed the iron door Against the desolate and poor.
Seite 200 - 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...
Seite 136 - Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn Those things inanimate can mourn ; But that the stream, the wood, the gale, Is vocal with the plaintive wail Of those, who, else forgotten long, Lived in the poet's faithful song, And, with the poet's parting breath, Whose memory feels a second death.
Seite 19 - They quitted not their harness bright Neither by day nor yet by night • They lay down to rest, With corslet laced, Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred.
Seite 191 - Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide, If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle.