. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. reck of state nor land ?Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine;Each guard and usher knows the thou the King without delay;This signet shall secure thy way:And claim thy suit, whateer it be,As ransom of his pledge to placed the golden circlet — kissed her hand — and then was aged Minstrel stood hastily Fitz-James shot joined his guide, and wending downThe ridges of the mountain brown,Across the stream they took their wayThat joins Loch Katrine to Achray.
. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. reck of state nor land ?Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine;Each guard and usher knows the thou the King without delay;This signet shall secure thy way:And claim thy suit, whateer it be,As ransom of his pledge to placed the golden circlet — kissed her hand — and then was aged Minstrel stood hastily Fitz-James shot joined his guide, and wending downThe ridges of the mountain brown,Across the stream they took their wayThat joins Loch Katrine to Achray. All in the Trosachs glen was was sleeping on the hill:Sudden his guide whooped loud and high — Murdoch ! was that a signal cry ? •—He stammered forth, I shout to scareYon raven from his dainty looked — he knew the ravens own brave steed : Ah ! gallant gray!For thee — for me, perchance — t were wellWe neer had seen the Trosachs dell. —Murdoch, move first — but silently ;Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die ! THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 211. Jealous and sullen on they fared,Each silent, each upon his guard. Now wound the path its dizzy ledgeAround a precipices lo ! a wasted female form,Blighted by wrath of sun and tattered weeds and wild on a cliff beside the way,And glancing round her restless eye,Upon the wood, the rock, the naught to mark, yet all to brow was wreathed with gaudy broom;With gesture wild she waved a plumeOf feathers, which the eagles flingTo crag and cliff from dusky wing;Such spoils her desperate step had sought, Where scarce was footing for the tartan plaid she first shrieked till all the rocks replied;As loud she laughed when near they drew,For then the Lowland garb she knew ;And then her hands she wildly then she wept, and then she sung —She sung ! — the voice, in better time,Perchance to harp or lute might chime ;And now, tho
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
