Identifier: poeticalworksofs00sco (find matches)
Title: The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text
Year: 1888 (1880s)
Authors: Scott, Walter, Sir, 1771-1832 Rolfe, W. J. (William James), 1827-1910, ed
Subjects:
Publisher: Boston, Ticknor and company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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al envy rolled the murky storm Oer my beloved Masters glorious day. 54 SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. Thou yealous, ruthless tyrant I Heaven repay On tlice. and on tliy children s latest line, The wild caprice of thy despotic sway, The gory bridal beil, the plundered shrine. The murdered Surreys blood, the tears of Geraldine ! XXI. Both Scots and Southern chiefs prolongApplauses of Fitztravers song;These hated Henrys name as death,And those still held the ancient faith.Then from his seat with lofty air The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood,Skilled to prepare the ravens food.Kings of the main their leaders brave,Their barks the dragons of the wave ;And there, in many a stormy vale.The Scald had told his wondrous tale,And many a Runic column highflad witnessed grim idolatry..And thus had Harold in his youthLearned many a Sagas rhyme uncouth, —Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curled,Whose monstrous circle girds the world ;Of those dread Maids whose hideous yellMaddens the battles bloody swell;
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Rose Harold, bard of brave Saint Clair, —Saint Clair, who, feasting high at Home,Had with that lord to battle come.Harold was born where restless seasHowl round the storm-swept Orcades;Where erst Saint Clairs held princely swayOer isle and islet, strait and bay ; —Still nods their palace to its fall.Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall! —Thence oft he marked fierce Pentland rave.As if grim Odin rode her wave,And watched the whilst, with visage paleAnd throbbing heart, the struggling sail;For all of wonderful and wildHad rapture for the lonely child, XXII. And much of wild and wonderfulIn these rude isles might Fancy cull ;For thither came in times afarStern Lochlins sons of rovinjr war. Of chiefs who, guided through the gloomBy the pale death-lights of the tomb,Ransacked the graves of warriors old,Their falchions wrenched from corpses hold,Waked the deaf tomb with wars alarms,And bade the dead arise to arms !W^ith war and wonder all on flame,To Roslins bowers young Harold came,Wh

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