Readings for the young, from the works of sir Walter Scott, Volume 1

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Page 212 - THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, 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!
Page 214 - O'er Roslin all that dreary night, A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from...
Page 217 - Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; Each one the holy vault doth hold — But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. And each St. Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds The dirge of lovely Rosabelle, [sung, XXIV.
Page 208 - But present still, though now unseen, When brightly shines the prosperous day, Be thoughts of THEE a cloudy screen To temper the deceitful ray. And...
Page 80 - Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them." " That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe. " If they press not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers be." " I see him not,
Page 217 - IF thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moon-light; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.
Page 23 - Hundreds of broad-headed, shortstemmed, wide-branched oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the stately march of the Roman soldiery, flung their gnarled arms over a thick carpet of the most delicious greensward ; in some places they were intermingled with beeches, hollies, and copsewood of various descriptions, so closely as totally to intercept the level beams of the sinking sun...
Page 208 - For on the smoke-wreathes, huge and slow That round her sable turrets flow, The morning beams were shed, And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge Castle holds its state, And all the steep...
Page 214 - O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood...

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