The Works of Walter Scott, Esq: The lay of the last minstrel. Ballads and lyrical pieces
Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, William Miller and John Murray, London; and for A. Constable and Company and John Ballantyne and Company Edinburgh, 1813
Was andere dazu sagen - Rezension schreiben
Es wurden keine Rezensionen gefunden.
Andere Ausgaben - Alle anzeigen
ancient appear arms band Baron beneath betwixt blood Book Border Branksome brother Buccleuch called CANTO carried castle cause chief clan close cross Dame dark dead death Deloraine Douglas dread Earl English fair fell field fight fire friends gave give hall hand head heard heart held hill Home horse Howard iron James John king knight Ladye laid laird lands light living look Lord lost Marches meet Michael MINSTREL Musgrave never noble Note o'er passed person present rest returned ride Robert round Scotland Scots Scott Scottish seemed seen side song soon sound spear spirit St Clair steed stone stood strange sword tell thou thought tide took tower true Virgilius wall Walter warriors wave wild wound
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 ? 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 12 - Stuart's throne ; The bigots of the iron time Had called his harmless art a crime. A wandering harper, scorned and poor, He begged his bread from door to door ; And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, The harp, a king had loved to hear.
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 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, doubly...
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 57 - Tis said, as through the aisles they passed, They heard strange noises on the blast ; And through the cloister-galleries small, Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall, Loud sobs, and laughter louder ran, And voices unlike the voice of man ; As if the fiends kept holiday, Because these spells were brought to day. I cannot tell how the truth may be ; I say the tale as 'twas said to me.
Seite 51 - In these far climes, it was my lot To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ; A wizard of such dreaded fame, That when, in Salamanca's cave, Him listed his magic wand to wave, The bells would ring in Notre Dame...
Seite 51 - Showed many a prophet, and many a saint, Whose image on the glass was dyed ; Full in the midst, his Cross of Red Triumphant Michael brandished, And trampled the Apostate's pride. The moon-beam kissed the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.
Seite 171 - Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand ! Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill. By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, Though none should guide my feeble way ; Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, Although it chill my withered cheek ; Still lay my head by Teviot stone, Though there, forgotten...