. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. glowed like fiery meditated curse more deadlier, on the clansmans headWho, summoned to his chieftains aid,The signal saw and crosslets points of sparkling woodHe quenched among the bubbling , as again the sign he reared,Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : When flits this Cross from man to man,\ich-Alpines summons to his be the ear that fails to heed !Palsied the foot that shuns to speed ! He ceased; no echo gave againThe murmur of the deep Amen. T
. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. glowed like fiery meditated curse more deadlier, on the clansmans headWho, summoned to his chieftains aid,The signal saw and crosslets points of sparkling woodHe quenched among the bubbling , as again the sign he reared,Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : When flits this Cross from man to man,\ich-Alpines summons to his be the ear that fails to heed !Palsied the foot that shuns to speed ! He ceased; no echo gave againThe murmur of the deep Amen. Then Roderick with impatient lookFrom Brians hand the symbol took: Speed, iMalise. speed ! he said, and gaveThe crosslet to his henchman muster-place be Lanrick mead —Instant the time — speed, IMalise, speed!Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,A barge across Loch Katrine flew:High stood the henchman on the prow ;.So rapidly the barge-men bubbles, where they launched the boat,Were all unbroken and in foam and ripple still, THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 193. When it had neared the mainland hill;And from the silver beachs sideStill was the prow three fathom wide,When lightly bounded to the landThe messenger of blood and brand. XIII. Speed, Malise, speed ! the dun deers hideOn fleeter foot was never , Malise, speed ! such cause of hasteThine active sinews never gainst the steepy hill thy breast,Burst down like torrent from its crest;With short and springing footstep passThe trembling bog and false morass ;Across the brook like roebuck bound,And thread the brake like questing hound;The crag is high, the scaur is deep,Yet shrink not from the desperate leap :Parched are thy burning lips and by the fountain pause not now ;Herald of battle, fate, and onward in thy fleet career!The wounded hind thou trackst not not maid through greenwood bough,Nor pliest thou now thy flying paceWith rivals in the moun
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
