The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed with a careful revision of the text . mperial castle, proof to hostile statelv halls and lioly towers — Nor less, he said, I moanTo think what woe mischance may how these merry bells may ringThe death-dirge of our gallant king. Or with their larum callThe burghers forth to watch and ward,Gainst .Southern sack and fires to guard Dun-Edins leaguered wall. —But not for my presaging conquest sure or cheaply bought! Lord Marmion, I say nay:God is the guider of the breaks the champions spear an
The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed with a careful revision of the text . mperial castle, proof to hostile statelv halls and lioly towers — Nor less, he said, I moanTo think what woe mischance may how these merry bells may ringThe death-dirge of our gallant king. Or with their larum callThe burghers forth to watch and ward,Gainst .Southern sack and fires to guard Dun-Edins leaguered wall. —But not for my presaging conquest sure or cheaply bought! Lord Marmion, I say nay:God is the guider of the breaks the champions spear and shield ; But thou thyself shalt joins yon host in deadly Englands dames must weep in bower, Her monks the death-mass sing ;For never sawst thou such a power Led on by such a now, down winding to the barriers of the camp they gain, And there they made a stay. —There stays the .Minstrel, till he fiingHis hand oer every Border string,And fit his harp the pomp to singOf Scotlands ancient court and king. In the succeedinix lav. MARM I ON. III. iH a r m i 0 n. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ. Edinburgh. When dark December glooms the day,And takes our autumn joys away;When short and scant the sunbeam throwsUpon the weary waste of snowsA cold and profitless regard,Like patron on a needy bard ;When sylvan occupation s done,And oer the chimney rests the gun,And hang in idle trophy near,The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ;When wiry terrier, rough and greyhound, with his length of pointer, now employed no our parlors narrow fioor ;When in his stall the impatient steedIs long condemned to rest and feed ;When from our snow-encircled homeScarce cares the hardiest step to path is none, save that to bringThe needful water from the spring;When wrinkled news-page, thrice conned oer,Beguiles the dreary hour no more,And darkling politician, crossed,Inveighs against the lingering post,And an
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
