The poetical works of sir Walter Scott, Volume 2

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Page 207 - Of all the palaces so fair, Built for the royal dwelling, In Scotland, far beyond compare Linlithgow is excelling ; And in its park, in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet's tune ! How blithe the blackbird's lay ! The wild buck bells* from ferny brake, The coot dives merry on the lake, The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all nature gay.
Page 17 - Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; Like fabled Gods, their mighty war Shook realms and nations in its...
Page 100 - Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame The sea-born beads that bear his name : Such tales had Whitby's fishers told, And said they might his shape behold, And hear his anvil sound ; A deaden'd clang, — a huge dim form, Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm And night were closing round.
Page 23 - And Dryden, in immortal strain, Had raised the Table Round again,* But that a ribald King and Court Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; Demanded for their niggard pay, Fit for their souls, a looser lay, Licentious satire, song, and play ; The world defrauded of the high design, Profaned the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.
Page 13 - NELSON'S shrine; And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, That shrouds, O PITT, thy hallowed tomb ! Deep graved in every British heart, O never let those names depart ! Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave, Who victor died on Gadite wave; To him, as to the burning levin, Short, bright, resistless course was given.
Page 73 - Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink ; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land.
Page 147 - Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving ; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving ; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, O never ! CHOUUS.
Page 115 - Had given him to the headsman's stroke, Although my heart that instant broke. — Now, men of death, work forth your will, For I can suffer, and be still ; And come he slow, or come he fast, It is but Death who comes at last.
Page 74 - Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine, Yet even this nakedness has power, And aids the feeling of the hour : Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, Where living thing concealed might lie ; Nor point, retiring, hides a dell Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell ; There's nothing left to fancy's guess, You see that all is loneliness : And silence aids — though the steep hills Send to the lake a thousand rills ; In summer tide, so soft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; Your horse's...
Page 274 - You shall faithfully do this, in remembrance that you did most cruelly slay me ; and that you may the better call to God for mercy, repent unfeignedly of your sins, and do good works The officer of Eskdale-side shall blow, ' Out on you, out on you, for this heinous crime.' If you or your successors shall refuse this service, so long as it shall not be full sea at the aforesaid hour, you or yours shall forfeit your lands to the Abbot of Whitby or his successors.

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