The poetical works of sir Walter Scott, Volume 7

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Page 94 - My noontide India may declare ; Like her fierce Sun, I fired the air ! Like him, to wood and cave bade fly Her natives, from mine angry eye. Panama's maids shall long look pale When Risingham inspires the tale; Chili's dark matrons long shall tame The froward child with Bertram's name.
Page 195 - Paled in by many a lofty hill, The narrow dale lay smooth and still, And, down its verdant bosom led, A winding brooklet found its bed.
Page 206 - While maidens laugh'd and minstrels sang, Still closer to her ear — But why pursue the common tale? Or wherefore show how knights prevail When ladies dare to hear ? Or wherefore trace from what slight cause Its source one tyrant passion draws, Till, mastering all within, Where lives the man that has not tried, How mirth can into folly glide, And folly into sin?
Page 24 - I have look'd and loved my last ! When villagers my shroud bestrew With pansies, rosemary, and rue, — Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me, And weave it of the cypress-tree.
Page 7 - The sultry summer day is done. The western hills have hid the sun, But mountain peak and village spire Retain reflection of his fire. Old Barnard's towers are purple still, To those that gaze from...
Page 155 - This custom (of duels) still prevailed in the Borders, where Saxon barbarism held its latest possession. These wild Northumbrians indeed went beyond the ferocity of their ancestors. They were not content with a duel ; each contending party used to muster what adherents he could, and commence a kind of petty war. So that a private grudge would often occasion much bloodshed.

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