The Works of Walter Scott, Esq: The lady of the lake

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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
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Page 204 - 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.
Page 117 - 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, re-appearing, 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...
Page 23 - E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread : What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue, — Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The list'ner held his breath to hear.
Page 38 - SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more: Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Page 213 - Now, yield thee, or, by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade ! " • " Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! Let recreant yield, who fears to die.
Page 97 - 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...
Page 209 - No, stranger, none ! And hear— to fire thy flagging zeal— The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred Between the living and the dead ; ' Who spills the foremost foeman's life His party conquers in the strife.' ' Then, by my word,' the Saxon said,
Page 267 - And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear. Onward they drive, in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursued; Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall it keep its rooted place, The spearmen's twilight wood?— " Down, down," cried Mar, " your lances down ! Bear back both friend and foe!
Page 70 - Moor'd in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise agen, ' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe...
Page 212 - Three times in closing strife they stood. And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; No stinted draught, no scanty tide. The gushing flood the tartans dyed. Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And...

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