The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, Volume 9

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Cadell & Company, 1850
 

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Page 44 - A day of darkness and of gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness, as the morning spread upon the mountains: a great people and a strong; there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the years of many generations.
Page 197 - Merrily, merrily goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea. The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, And Ulva dark and Colonsay, And all the group of islets gay That guard famed Staffa round.
Page 198 - In varied tone prolong'd and high, That mocks the organ's melody. Nor doth its entrance front in vain To old lona's holy fane, That Nature's voice might seem to say, " Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay ! Thy humble powers that stately shrine Task'd high and hard — but witness mine!
Page 155 - Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way Through the rude bosom of the hill, And that each naked precipice, Sable ravine, and dark abyss, Tells of the outrage still. The wildest glen, but this, can show Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; On high Benmore green mosses grow, And heath-bells bud in deep...
Page 44 - Like the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, as a strong people set in battle array.
Page 44 - They shall run to and fro in the city, they shall run upon the wall, they shall climb up upon the houses, they shall enter in at the windows like a thief. The earth shall quake before them, the heavens shall tremble, the sun and the moon shall be dark, and the stars shall withdraw their shining...
Page 254 - O ! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant ! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken...
Page 197 - Where, as to shame the temples deck'd By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise A minster to her Maker's praise! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend ; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tone prolong'd and high, That mocks the organ's melody.
Page 155 - And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; But here, — above, around, below, On mountain or in glen, Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, Nor aught of vegetative power, The weary eye may ken. For all is rocks at random thrown, Black waves, bare crags, and banks of As if were here denied, [stone, The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew, That clothe with many a varied hue The bleakest mountain-side.

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