The lady of the lake, canto 1-5

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Strona 124 - 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, reappearing, 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. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest.
Strona 121 - The fisherman forsook the strand, The swarthy smith took dirk and brand; With changed cheer the mower blithe Left in the half-cut...
Strona 105 - The torrent show'd its glistening pride ; Invisible in flecked sky, The lark sent down her revelry ; The blackbird and the speckled thrush Good-morrow gave from brake and bush ; In answer coo'd the cushat dove Her notes of peace, and rest, and love.
Strona 217 - 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 ! — 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...
Strona 20 - The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path, in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
Strona 200 - The rugged mountain's scanty cloak Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak, With shingles bare, and cliffs between, And patches bright of bracken green, And heather black, that waved so high, It held the copse in rivalry.
Strona 210 - Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood; Sunk brand, and spear, and bended bow, In osiers pale and copses low: It seemed as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth.
Strona 170 - Like the idle gleam that December's beam Can dart on ice and snow. ' And fading, like that varied gleam, Is our inconstant shape, Who now like knight and lady seem, And now like dwarf and ape. ' It was between the night and day, When the Fairy King has power, That I sunk down in a sinful fray, And 'twixt life and death was snatch'd away To the joyless elfin bower.
Strona 46 - 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.
Strona 15 - Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, — For twice, that day, from shore to shore, The gallant Stag swam stoutly o'er. Few were the stragglers, following far, That reached the lake of Vennachar ; And when the Brigg of Turk was won, The headmost Horseman rode alone.

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