The lady of the lake

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S. Johnson, 1838 - 355
 

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Strona 121 - But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came, To turn the odds of deadly game : For, while the dagger gleamed on high, Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye.
Strona 67 - The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Strona 119 - I thank thee, Roderick, for the word! It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein. Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, begone!
Strona 2 - The stag at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartney's hazel shade...
Strona 2 - Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took, The dewdrops from his flanks he shook ; Like crested leader proud and high...
Strona 6 - And turned him from the opposing rock ; Then, dashing down a darksome glen, Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, In the deep Trosach's wildest nook His solitary refuge took.
Strona 118 - Then, by my word," the Saxon said, " The riddle is already read. Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff — There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. Thus Fate has solved her prophecy, Then yield to Fate, and not to me. To James, at Stirling, let us go, When, if thou wilt be still his foe, Or if the King shall not agree To grant thee grace and favour free, I plight mine honour, oath, and word, That, to thy native strengths restored, With each advantage shalt thou stand, That aids thee now to guard thy...
Strona 112 - These fertile plains, that softened vale, Were once the birthright of the Gael; The stranger came with iron hand, And from our fathers reft the land. Where dwell we now? See, rudely swell Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. Ask we...
Strona 39 - Moored 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!
Strona 22 - Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille.

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