Sir Walter Scott ( 10 of 46 )
The summer dawn's reflected hue
To purple changed Lock Katrine blue,
Mildly and soft the western breeze
read more
The summer dawn's reflected hue
To purple changed Lock Katrine blue,
Mildly and soft the western breeze
Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees,
And the pleased lake, like maiden coy,
Trembled but dimpled not for joy.
Vengeance to God alone belongs;
But, when I think of all my wrongs
My blood is liquid read more
Vengeance to God alone belongs;
But, when I think of all my wrongs
My blood is liquid flame!
Contentions fierce,
Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause.
Contentions fierce,
Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause.
But with the morning cool repentance came.
But with the morning cool repentance came.
We do that in our zeal our calmer moment would be afraid to
answer.
We do that in our zeal our calmer moment would be afraid to
answer.
Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes read more
Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;
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England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year.
Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe, And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the read more
Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe, And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the rising tear to flow
Within that awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries!
Happiest they of human race,
read more
Within that awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries!
Happiest they of human race,
To whom God has granted grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, and force the way:
And better had they ne'er been born,
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.
What skilful limner e'er would choose
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were read more
What skilful limner e'er would choose
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were given
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven?
