The Miscellaneous Prose Works of Sir Walter Scott: Biographical memoirs of eminent novelistsBaudry's European Library, 1838 |
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Page 38
... young widow . " And as a widowe was she and alone . " And again , when invited by Pandarus to do honour to May , " Eighe ! God forbid , quod she , what , be ye mad ? Is that a widowe's life , so God you save ? It sate me wele better ...
... young widow . " And as a widowe was she and alone . " And again , when invited by Pandarus to do honour to May , " Eighe ! God forbid , quod she , what , be ye mad ? Is that a widowe's life , so God you save ? It sate me wele better ...
Page 42
... young knights who looked upon the field of Roncesvalles with augmented circulation " - " unforshortened figures " -an " ancient baron neighboured to a throne , " and sundry other extremely new and whimsical expressions . But even these ...
... young knights who looked upon the field of Roncesvalles with augmented circulation " - " unforshortened figures " -an " ancient baron neighboured to a throne , " and sundry other extremely new and whimsical expressions . But even these ...
Page 57
... young virgin , and in another pas- sage , he is made . to aver yet more specifically , that the pleasure of battering the helmet with the keen falchion , was like that of kissing a young widow reclining upon a high seat . Now , whatever ...
... young virgin , and in another pas- sage , he is made . to aver yet more specifically , that the pleasure of battering the helmet with the keen falchion , was like that of kissing a young widow reclining upon a high seat . Now , whatever ...
Page 61
... young , and Zenild fair , Did fast behind them tread . North within the armory bright Young Trunda drew her blade ; South before the altar's light Sir Bonda's fallen dead . South beside the altar's ledge ! Fair Zenild drew her knife ...
... young , and Zenild fair , Did fast behind them tread . North within the armory bright Young Trunda drew her blade ; South before the altar's light Sir Bonda's fallen dead . South beside the altar's ledge ! Fair Zenild drew her knife ...
Page 69
... young to die ; But go with me , and be my bride , And leave the old to sigh . ' · But still she cried , Oh stay , my love , My true love stay for me : Stay till I've deck'd my bridal bed , And I will follow thee . ' ' Oh leave , ' he ...
... young to die ; But go with me , and be my bride , And leave the old to sigh . ' · But still she cried , Oh stay , my love , My true love stay for me : Stay till I've deck'd my bridal bed , And I will follow thee . ' ' Oh leave , ' he ...
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affected Amadis Amadis de Gaul ancient appears ballads bard beautiful betwixt Bunyan Caleb Williams called castle character Chatterton Chaucer chivalry circumstances comedy composition Courcy criticism daughter death Ellis English expression eyes fancy father feeling Fleetwood French Galaor genius Gertrude of Wyoming Godwin hand heart hero honour Hôtel de Rambouillet human humour imagination imitation interest John Bunyan John of Gaunt Kehama King knight labours Ladurlad lady language length Lisuarte Lord Lord Byron manner merit metrical romances mind minstrels Molière Molière's moral narrative nature never novel original passages passion perhaps person piece Pilgrim Pilgrim's Progress pleasure poem poet poetical poetry possessed present prose racter reader resemblance ridicule Rowley Samothes satire scene seems sentiments singular song Southey Spenser spirit stanzas story style supposed tale talents taste thee thou thought tion Tizona verse young Zaira
Popular passages
Page 160 - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Page 449 - O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword; The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
Page 234 - Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand : Why dost thou lash that whore ? strip thine own back ; Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind, For which thou whipp'st her.
Page 120 - Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Page 155 - It might be months, or years, or days, I kept no count — I took no note, I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote ; At last men came to set me free...
Page 217 - Or, would'st thou lose thyself, and catch no harm ? And find thyself again without a charm ? Would'st read thyself, and read thou know'st not what, And yet know whether thou art blest or not, By reading the same lines ? O, then, come hither ; And lay my book, thy head and heart together.
Page 449 - ... crash And merciless ravage: and the shady nook Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being: and unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past...
Page 276 - It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: an image was before mine eyes, there was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, ""Shall mortal man be more just than God?
Page 162 - And even since, and now, fair Italy ! Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature (') can decree ; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste ; More rich than other climes' fertility ; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.
Page 164 - Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!