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answer appear arms band battle bear blood bold brand brave brow called castle cause chase chief Chieftain claim clan close Cross dark death deep Douglas drew Ellen fair fear fire gave give given glance glen grace gray hand harp head hear heard heart held Highland hill hold honor isle James John kind King Lady laid lake land late length light live Loch look Lord maid marked means morning mountain never night noble o'er once pass person race rest Robin Hood rock Roderick round Scotland Scottish seemed seen side song soon sound speed stand step stood strain Stranger sword tear tell thee thine thou thought tide till took turned wave wild wind wood young
Strona 207 - At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, Had pealed the banner-cry of hell...
Strona 69 - Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe! 'Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! Stretch to your oars, for the evergreen Pine!
Strona 167 - 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.
Strona 170 - And locked his arms his foeman round. Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel Through bars of brass and triple steel ! They tug, they strain ! down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
Strona 161 - Pent in this fortress of the North, Think'st thou we will not sally forth, To spoil the spoiler as we may, And from the robber rend the prey?
Strona 31 - Or mosque of Eastern architect. Nor were these earth-born castles bare, Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; For, from their shivered brows displayed, Far o'er the unfathomable glade, All twinkling with the dewdrop sheen, The brier-rose fell in streamers green, And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes, Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs.
Strona 131 - Merry it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter's horn is ringing.
Strona 168 - Yet think not that by thee alone, Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown ; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt — We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.
Strona 70 - Some feelings are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than heaven : And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head ! XXII.