. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. 222 scorrs poetical works. So late dishonored and , by stealth, his eye sought roundThe vanished guardians of the ground,And still from copse and heather deepFancy saw spear and broadsword peep,And in the plovers shrilly strainThe signal whistle heard breathed he free till far behindThe pass was left; for then they windAlong a wide and level green, This head of a rebellious clan, Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,Far past Clan-Alpines outmost , man to man, and stee
. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. 222 scorrs poetical works. So late dishonored and , by stealth, his eye sought roundThe vanished guardians of the ground,And still from copse and heather deepFancy saw spear and broadsword peep,And in the plovers shrilly strainThe signal whistle heard breathed he free till far behindThe pass was left; for then they windAlong a wide and level green, This head of a rebellious clan, Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,Far past Clan-Alpines outmost , man to man, and steel to steel,A Chieftains vengeance thou shalt , here all vantageless I like thyself with single brand;For this is Coilantogle ford,And thou must keep thee with thy Where neither tree nor tuft was seen,Nor rush nor bush of broom was hide a bonnet or a spear. The Chief in silence strode before,And reached that torrents sounding shore,Which, daughter of three mighty Vennachar in silver through the plain, and ceaseless minesOn Bochastle the mouldering Rome, the Empress of the yore her eagle wings here his course the Chieftain stayed,Threw down his target and his plaid,And to the Lowland warrior said: Bold Saxon ! to his promise just,Vich-Alpine has discharged his murderous Chief, this ruthless man, The Saxon paused : I neer delayed,When foeman bade me draw my blade ;Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death ;Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,And my deep debt for life preserved,A better meed have well deserved:Can naught but blood our feud there no means ? — No, stranger, none !And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, —The Saxon cause rests on thy steel;For
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
