Sir Walter Scott: Всі вірші поета

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Thomas the Rhymer

Part First

Ancient

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;

A ferlie he spied wi' his ee;

And there he saw a lady bright,

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her skirt was o the grass-green silk,

Her mantle o the velvet fyne,

by Sir Walter Scott

Patriotism 2: Nelson, Pitt, Fox

TO mute and to material things

New life revolving summer brings;

The genial call dead Nature hears,

And in her glory reappears.

But oh, my Country's wintry state

What second spring shall renovate?

What powerful call shall bid arise

The buried warlike and the wise;

by Sir Walter Scott

Bruce and the Abbot

The Abbot on the threshold stood,

And in his hand the holy rood:

Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal,

Proud Lorn first answered the appeal; —

"Thou comest, O holy man,

True sons of blessed church to greet,

But little deeming here to meet

A wretch, beneath the ban

by Sir Walter Scott

Marmion: a Christmas Poem

Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;

But let it whistle as it will,

We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

Each age has deem'd the new-born year

The fittest time for festal cheer:

Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane

At Iol more deep the mead did drain;

High on the beach his galleys drew,

by Sir Walter Scott

Proud Maisie

Proud Maisie is in the wood,

Walking so early;

Sweet Robin sits on the bush,

Singing so rarely.

"Tell me, thou bonny bird,

When shall I marry me?"

"When six braw gentlemen

Kirkward shall carry ye."

by Sir Walter Scott

The Bridal Of Triermain

Introduction.

Come Lucy! while 'tis morning hour

The woodland brook we needs must pass;

So, ere the sun assume his power,

We shelter in our poplar bower,

Where dew lies long upon the flower,

Though vanish'd from the velvet grass.

by Sir Walter Scott

Breathes There the Man From the Lay of the Last Minstrel

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 burned,

As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand!

If such there breathe, go, mark him well;

For him no Minstrel raptures swell;

by Sir Walter Scott

Marmion: Canto VI - The Battle

While great events were on the gale,

And each hour brought a varying tale,

And the demeanour, changed and cold,

Of Douglas fretted Marmion bold,

And, like the impatient steed of war

He snuffed the battle from afar;

And hopes were none, that back again

by Sir Walter Scott

The Field of Waterloo

Fair Brussels, thou art far behind,

Though, lingering on the morning wind,

We yet may hear the hour

Pealed over orchard and canal,

With voice prolonged and measured fall,

From proud St. Michael's tower;

Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now,

by Sir Walter Scott

Patriotism 1: Innominatus

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;

by Sir Walter Scott

Hunter's Song

The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,

Ever sing merrily, merrily;

The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,

Hunters live so cheerily.

It was a stag, a stag of ten,

Bearing its branches sturdily;

He came silently down the glen,

Ever sing hardily, hardily.

by Sir Walter Scott

The Lady of the Lake: Canto III - The Gathering

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,

Who danced our infancy upon their knee,

And told our marvelling boyhood legends store

Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea,

How are they blotted from the things that be!

How few, all weak and withered of their force,

Wait on the verge of dark eternity,

by Sir Walter Scott