. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. , As wasted, gray, and worn as he. To minstrel meditation given, His reverend brow was raised to heaven. As from the rising sun to claim A sparkle of inspiring flame. His hand, reclined upon the wire. Seemed watching the awakening fire; So still he sat as those who wait Till judgment speak the doom of fate So still, as if no breeze might dare To lift one lock of hoary hair; So still, as life itself were fied In the last sound his harp had sped. Lpon a rock with lichens him Ellen sat and smil
. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. , As wasted, gray, and worn as he. To minstrel meditation given, His reverend brow was raised to heaven. As from the rising sun to claim A sparkle of inspiring flame. His hand, reclined upon the wire. Seemed watching the awakening fire; So still he sat as those who wait Till judgment speak the doom of fate So still, as if no breeze might dare To lift one lock of hoary hair; So still, as life itself were fied In the last sound his harp had sped. Lpon a rock with lichens him Ellen sat and smiled. —-Smiled she to see the stately drakeLead forth his fleet upon the lake,While her vexed spaniel from the beachBayed at the prize beyond his reach .Yet tell me, then, the maid who deepened on her cheek the rose ? —Forgive, forgive. Fidelity !Perchance the maiden smiled to seeYon parting lingerer wave stoj) and turn to wave anew;And, lovely ladies, ere your ireCondemn the heroine of my me the fair would scorn to spyAnd prize such conquest of her eye !. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 171 While yet he loitered on the spot,It seemed as Ellen marked him not;But when he turned him to the glade,One courteous parting sign she made ;And after, oft the knight would say,That not when prize of festal dayWas dealt him by the brightest fairWho eer wore jewel in her hair,So highly did his bosom swellAs at that simple mute with a trusty his dark stag-hounds by his side,He parts, — the maid, unconscious him wind slowly round the hill;But when his stately form was hid, For of his clan, in hall and bower, Young Malcolm Gramme was held the flower. The minstrel waked his harp, — three timesArose the well-known martial chimes,And thrice their high heroic prideIn melancholy murmurs \ainly thou bidst, O noble maid,Clasping his withered hands, he said,\ainly thou bidst me wake the strain,Though all unwont to bid in vain
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
