Scott's Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field, in Six Cantos

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Macmillan, 1899 - 62 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 170 - I tell thee thou'rt defied! And if thou saidst I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied!
Pàgina 218 - My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears: My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are...
Pàgina 127 - Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. So faithful in love and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
Pàgina 247 - Have we not seen, at Pleasure's lordly call, The smiling, long-frequented village fall ? Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd, The modest matron, and the blushing maid, Forced from their homes, a melancholy train, To traverse climes beyond the western main — Where wild Oswego* spreads her swamps around, And Niagara stuns with thundering sound...
Pàgina 305 - The neck that made that white robe wan, Her stately neck, and arms were bare; Her blue-veined feet unsandal'd were, And wildly glittered here and there The gems entangled in her hair.
Pàgina 222 - These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart...
Pàgina 171 - At first in heart it liked me ill, .When the king praised his clerkly skill. Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine, Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line: So swore I, and I swear it still, Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought to slay him where he stood. 'Tis pity of him too," he cried ; " Bold can he speak, and fairly ride : I warrant him a warrior tried.
Pàgina 62 - Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; Of patriot battles, won of old By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; Of later fields of feud and fight, When, pouring from their Highland height, The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, Had swept the scarlet ranks away. While...
Pàgina 184 - O woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made ; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou...
Pàgina 169 - Douglas' head ! And first I tell thee, haughty peer, He who does England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate! And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near...

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