The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed with a careful revision of the text . e noises on the blast;And through the cloister-galleries small,Which at mid-height thread the chancel sobs, and laughter louder, ran,And voices unlike the voice of if the fiends kept holidayBecause these spells were brought to day. I cannot tell how the truth may be; 1 say the tale as t was said to me. XXIII. Now, hie thee hence, the father said, And when we are on death-bed laid,O may our dear Ladye and sweet .Saint JohnForgive our souls for the deed we have done!The monk returned him to
The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed with a careful revision of the text . e noises on the blast;And through the cloister-galleries small,Which at mid-height thread the chancel sobs, and laughter louder, ran,And voices unlike the voice of if the fiends kept holidayBecause these spells were brought to day. I cannot tell how the truth may be; 1 say the tale as t was said to me. XXIII. Now, hie thee hence, the father said, And when we are on death-bed laid,O may our dear Ladye and sweet .Saint JohnForgive our souls for the deed we have done!The monk returned him to his cell. And many a prayer and penance sped ;When the convent met at the noontide bell, The Monk of Saint Marys aisle was dead !Before the cross was the body hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. XXIV. The knight breathed free in the morning strove his hardihood to finti :He was glad when he passed the tombstones grayWhich girdle round the fair Abbaye ;For the mystic book, to his bosom pressed,Felt like a load upon his breast. THE LAY OF THE LAST ML\STREL. 17. And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, Shook like the aspen-leaves in wind. Full fain was he when the dawn of day Began to brighten Cheviot gray ; He joyed to see the cheerful light, And he said Ave Mary as well as he might. The sun had brightened Cheviot gray, The sun had brightened the Carters side;And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome towers and wild birds told their warbling tale. And wakened every flower that blows ;And peeped forth the violet pale. And spread her breast the mountain lovelier than the rose so red, Yet paler than the violet pale,She early left her sleepless bed, The fairest maid of Teviotdale. XXVI. Why does fair IVIargaret so early awake, And don her kirtle so hastilie;And the silken knots, which in hurry shewould make. Why tremble her slender fingers to tie?Why does she stop and look often around. As she glides down the secret stair
Size: 1569px × 1592px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
