The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed with a careful revision of the text . :Vet rest thee God ! for well I knowI neer shall find a nobler all the northern counties word is .SnafHe, spur, and spear, THE LA V OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 47 Thou wert the best to follow was pleasure, as we looked behind,To see how thou the chase couldst the dark bloodhound on his way,And with the bugle rouse the fray !I d give the lands of Deloraine,Dark Musirrave were alive again. So mourned he till Lord Dacres bandWere bowning back to raised brave Musg
The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed with a careful revision of the text . :Vet rest thee God ! for well I knowI neer shall find a nobler all the northern counties word is .SnafHe, spur, and spear, THE LA V OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 47 Thou wert the best to follow was pleasure, as we looked behind,To see how thou the chase couldst the dark bloodhound on his way,And with the bugle rouse the fray !I d give the lands of Deloraine,Dark Musirrave were alive again. So mourned he till Lord Dacres bandWere bowning back to raised brave Musgrave from the fieldAnd laid him on his bloody shield ; The harps wild notes, though hushed the mimic march of death prolong;Now seems it far, and now meets, and now eludes the seems some mountain side to sweep,Now faintly dies in valley now as if the Minstrels wail,Now the sad requiem, loads the gale ;Last, oer the warriors closing the full choir in choral stave. After due pause, they bade him tellWhy he, who touched the harp so well,. On levelled lances, four and four, By turns, the noble burden bore. Before, at times, upon the gale Was heard the Minstrels plaintive wail;Behind, four priests in sable stoleSung requiem for the warriors soul;Around, the horsemen slowly rode ;With trailing pikes the spearmen trode ;And thus the gallant knight they boreThrough Liddesdale to Levens shore,Thence to Holme Coltrames lofty nave,And laid him in his fathers sfrave. Should thus, with ill-rewarded a poor and thankless soil,When the more generous Southern LandWould well requite his skilful hand. The aged harper, howsoeer His only friend, his harp, was dear. Liked not to hear it ranked so high Above his flowing poesy : Less liked he still that scornful jeer Misprized the land he loved so dear : High was the sound as thus again The bard resumed his minstrel strain. 48 scorrs poetical works.
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
