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answer appear arms band battle bear BIRKET FOSTER blood bold brand brave brow called CANTO cause chase chief Chieftain claim clan close Cross danger dark death deep Douglas drew Ellen fair fear fire Fitz-James gave give given glance glen grace guard hand harp head hear heard heart held Highland hill hold James JOHN JOHN GILBERT kind King knight Lady laid lake land length light live Loch look Lord maid means Minstrel morning mountain never noble Note o'er once pass person plaid race rest rock Roderick round scene Scotland Scottish seen side sire song soon sound speed stand step stood stranger sword tell thee thine thou thought tide till took true wave wild wind wood young
Page 84 - 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...
Page 49 - Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more : Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Page 34 - And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form or lovelier face...
Page 131 - 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.
Page 51 - ... 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.
Page 115 - There is something of pride in the perilous hour, Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower ; For Fame is there to say who bleeds, And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! But when all is past, it is humbling to tread O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, Beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; All regarding man as their prey, All rejoicing in his decay.
Page 14 - The antler'd monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took, The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; Like crested leader proud and high...
Page 29 - In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light ; And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land.
Page 24 - I little thought, when first thy rein I slack'd upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle e'er should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant grey !
Page 36 - And seldom was a snood amid Such wild, luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the raven's wing ; And seldom o'er a breast so fair, Mantled a plaid with modest care, And never brooch the folds combined Above a heart more good and kind.