The new Waverley album [of places mentioned by sir W. Scott].

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Page 29 - As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care. The winds were laid, the air was still, The stars they shot alang the sky ; The fox was howling on the hill, And the distant-echoing glens reply.
Page 35 - A prison is a house of care. A place where none can thrive, A touchstone true to try a friend, A grave for one alive. Sometimes a place of right. Sometimes a place of wrong, Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves, And honest men among.
Page 54 - There was the Bluidy Advocate MacKenyie, who, for his worldly wit and wisdom, had been to the rest as a god. And there was Claverhouse, as beautiful as when he lived, with his long dark, curled locks, streaming down over his laced buff-coat, and his left hand always on his right spule-blade, to hide the wound that the silver bullet had made.
Page 53 - But, Lord take us in keeping, what a set of ghastly revellers they were that sat around that table ! — My gudesire kend mony that had long before gane to their place, for often had he piped to the most part in the hall of Redgauntlet. There was the fierce Middleton, and the dissolute Rothes, and the crafty Lauderdale ; and Dalyell, with his bald head and a beard to his girdle ; and...
Page 54 - They that waited at the table were just the wicked serving-men and troopers that had done their work and cruel bidding on earth. There was the Lang Lad of the Nethertown, that...
Page 51 - Long have I loved what I behold, The night that calms, the day that cheers : The common growth of mother earth Suffices me — her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears. The dragon's wing, the magic ring, I shall not covet for my dower, If I along that lowly way With sympathetic heart may stray, And with a soul of power.
Page 39 - The sacred tapers' lights are gone, Grey moss has clad the altar stone, The holy image is o'erthrown, The bell has ceased to toll. The long ribb'd aisles are burst and sunk, The holy shrines to ruin sunk, Departed is the pious monk, God's blessing on his soul.
Page 17 - ... adorned and defended by a lake partly artificial, across which Leicester had constructed a stately bridge, that Elizabeth might enter the Castle by a path hitherto untrodden, instead of the usual entrance to the northward, over which he had erected a gatehouse or barbican, which still exists, and is equal in extent, and superior in architecture, to the baronial castle of many a northern chief.
Page 51 - How richly glows the water's breast Before us, tinged with evening hues, While, facing thus the crimson west, The Boat her silent course pursues ! And see how dark the backward stream ! A little moment past so smiling ! And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam, Some other Loiterers beguiling. Such views the youthful Bard allure ; But, heedless of the following gloom, He deems their colours shall endure Till peace go with him to the tomb. — And let him nurse his fond deceit...
Page 52 - Till peace go with him to the tomb. - And let him nurse his fond deceit, And what if he must die in sorrow! Who would not cherish dreams so sweet, Though grief and pain may come tomorrow?

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