Lay of the Last MinstrelClarendon Press, 1886 - 188 pages |
Other editions - View all
The Lay of the Last Minstrel: A Poem, in Six Cantos (Classic Reprint) Walter Scott No preview available - 2017 |
Common terms and phrases
ancient arms ballad bard Baron betwixt blood blood-hound Book Border Minstrelsy Branksome Hall Branksome's Buccleuch called Canto castle Cessford chief clan coursers Crown 8vo Dame Douglas E. A. FREEMAN Earl Earl of Angus Edited by C. A. English Eskdale Ettrick Forest feud Froissart Gilpin Horner goblin harp Hawick head heard heart Henry History horse Howard Introduction and Notes King knight Ladye Laird of Buccleuch Liddesdale Lord Cranstoun Lord Dacre M.A. Extra fcap M.A. Second Edition Melrose Melrose Abbey Michael Scott Minstrel Minstrelsy Molière moss-trooper Musgrave Naworth Castle ne'er noble o'er Outlaw Murray pass'd poem poet poetic poetry ride rode romance round rung Scotland Scott quotes Scottish Scottish Border Seem'd SKEAT slain song spear spirit steed stiff covers supernatural sword tale Teviot thee Third Edition thou Tinlinn tower W. W. SKEAT Warden warriors wild William of Deloraine wizard word
Popular passages
Page 38 - When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die...
Page 101 - Caledonia ! stern and wild, meet nurse for a poetic child, • land of brown heath and shaggy wood, land of the mountain and the flood, land of my sires!
Page 101 - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
Page 117 - That day of wrath, .that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day...
Page 85 - CALL it not vain ¡—they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies : Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed Bard make moan ; That mountains weep in crystal rill ; That flowers in tears of balm distil ; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan, reply; And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave.
Page 101 - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, From wandering on a foreign strand ! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown...
Page 23 - The way was long, the wind was cold, The minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the bards was he Who sung of Border chivalry ; For, well-aday!
Page 41 - The moon on the east oriel shone, Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined ; Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand, In many a freakish knot had twined ; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow wreaths to stone.
Page 101 - Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Page 23 - Stuarts' throne ; The bigots of the iron time Had call'd his harmless art a crime. A wandering Harper, scorn'd and poor, He begg'd his bread from door to door, And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, The harp a king had loved to hear.