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Page 156 - So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, " Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.
Page 214 - The border slogan rent the sky ! A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : Loud were the clanging blows ; Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high, The pennon sunk and rose ; As bends the bark's mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It wavered 'mid the foes.
Page 157 - One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur: They'll have fleet steeds that follow,
Page 201 - I tell thee thou'rt defied ! And if thou said'st I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied...
Page 155 - O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save his good broad-sword he weapons had none, He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
Page 200 - Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble earl, receive my hand." But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: "My manors, halls, and bowers shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation-stone; The hand of Douglas is his own, And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp.
Page 156 - Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?
Page 133 - With gloomy splendour red ; For on the smoke-wreaths, 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 thundercloud. Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, Where the huge Castle holds its state, And all the steep slope down, Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, Piled deep and massy, close and high, Mine own romantic town...
Page 217 - Tunstall lies dead upon the field, His life-blood stains the spotless shield: Edmund is down; my life is reft; The Admiral alone is left, Let Stanley charge with spur of fire—- With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost. Must I bid twice? hence, varlets! fly! Leave Marmion here alone — to die.