. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. es went. While all along the crowded way 228 SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. Was jubilee and loud huzza. And ever James was bending low To his white jennets saddle-bow, Doffing his cap to city dame, Who smiled and blushed for pride and well the simperer might be vain, —He chose the fairest of the he greets each city sire,Commends each pageants quaint attire,Gives to the dancers thanks aloud,And smiles and nods upon the crowd,Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,—* Long live the Common
. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. es went. While all along the crowded way 228 SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. Was jubilee and loud huzza. And ever James was bending low To his white jennets saddle-bow, Doffing his cap to city dame, Who smiled and blushed for pride and well the simperer might be vain, —He chose the fairest of the he greets each city sire,Commends each pageants quaint attire,Gives to the dancers thanks aloud,And smiles and nods upon the crowd,Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,—* Long live the Commons King, King James! Now, in the Castle-park, drew outTheir checkered bands the joyous morricers, with bell at heelAnd blade in hand, their mazes wheel;But chief, beside the butts, there standBold Robin Hood and all his band, —Friar Tuck with quarterstatf and Scathelocke with his surly Marian, fair as ivory bone,Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;Their bugles challenge all that archery to prove their Douglas bent a bow of might, —. Behind the King thronged peer and knight,And noble dame and damsel fiery steeds ill brooked the stayOf the steep street and crowded in the train you might discernDark lowering brow and visage stern ;There nobles mourned their pride the mean burghers joys disdained ;And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan,Were each from home a banished man,There thought upon their own gray waving woods, their feudal power,And deemed themselves a shameful partOf pageant which they cursed in heart. His first shaft centred in the white, And when in turn he shot again, His second split the first in twain. From the Kings hand must Douglas take A silver dart, the archers stake; Fondly he watched, with watery eye, Some answering glance of sympathy,— No kind emotion made reply ! Indifferent as to archer wight, The monarch gave the arrow bright. XXIII. Now, clear the ring
Size: 1726px × 1447px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
