Bruce and the Abbot (Sir Walter Scott Poems)
The Abbot on the threshold stood,And in his hand the holy rood:Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal,Proud Lorn first answered ...
The Abbot on the threshold stood,And in his hand the holy rood:Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal,Proud Lorn first answered ...
From a rude isle, his ruder lineage came.The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearthAscending, wraps some capital in flame,Hath ...
I.Birds of omen dark and foul,Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl,Leave the sick man to his dream -All night long he ...
Farewell to Northmaven,Grey Hillswicke, farewell!The storms on thy haven,The storms on thy fell -To each breeze that can varyThe mood ...
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,Who never to himself hath said,'This is my own, my native land!'Whose heart ...
As lords their labourers' hire delay,Fate quits our toil with hopes to come,Which, if far short of present pay,Still, owns ...
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke. 'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be ...
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native ...
BREATHES there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native ...
TO mute and to material things New life revolving summer brings; The genial call dead Nature hears, And in her ...
BREATHES there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native ...
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