Sir Walter Scott: Все стихи поэта

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Rebecca's Hymn

When Israel, of the Lord beloved,

Out from the land of bondage came,

Her father's God before her moved,

An awful Guide, in smoke and flame.

By day, along the astonished lands

The cloudy pillar glided slow;

By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands

Returned the fiery column's glow.

Sir Walter Scott

Bonny Dundee

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Clavers who spoke.

'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;

So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,

Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,

Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;

Come open the West Port and let me gang free,

And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!

Sir Walter Scott

A Serenade

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.

The lark, his lay who trill’d all day,

Sits hush’d his partner nigh;

Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,

But where is County Guy?

Sir Walter Scott

Harp of the North, Farewell!

Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;

In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.

Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending,

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;

Thy numbers sweet with nature’s vespers blending,

With distant echo from the fold and lea,

Sir Walter Scott

Funeral Hymn

Dust unto dust,

To this all must;

The tenant hath resign'd

The faded form To waste and worm—

Corruption claims her kind.

Through paths unknown

Thy soul hath flown,

To seek the realms of woe,

Sir Walter Scott

The Dance of Death

Night and morning were at meeting

Over Waterloo;

Cocks had sung their earliest greeting;

Faint and low they crew,

For no paly beam yet shone

On the heights of Mount Saint John;

Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway

Sir Walter Scott

The Truth of Woman

Woman's faith, and woman's trust—

Write the characters in the dust;

Stamp them on the running stream,

Print them on the moon's pale beam,

And each evanescent letter

Shall be clearer, firmer, better,

And more permanent, I ween,

Than the thing those letters mean.

Sir Walter Scott

The Wild Huntsman

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn,

To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo!

His fiery courser snuffs the morn,

And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake;

While answering hound, and horn, and steed,

The mountain echoes startling wake.

Sir Walter Scott

The Black Knight's Song

Knight And Wamba

There came three merry men from south, west, and north,

Ever more sing the roundelay;

To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,

And where was the widow might say them nay?

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came,

Ever more sing the roundelay;

And his fathers, God save us, were men of great faine,

Sir Walter Scott

Death Chant

Viewless essence, thin and bare,

Well nigh melted into air,

Still with fondness hovering near

The earthly form thou once didst wear,

Pause upon thy pinion's flight;

Be thy course to left or right,

Be thou doomed to soar or sink,

Pause upon the awful brink.

Sir Walter Scott

Hellvellyn

I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide;

All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,

And starting around me the echoes replied.

On the right, Striding-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,

And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,

One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,

When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.

Sir Walter Scott

MacKrimmon's Lament

MacLeod's wizard flag from the grey castle sallies,

The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys;

Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and quiver,

As Mackrimmon sings, "Farewell to Dunvegan for ever!

Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming;

Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer are roaming;

MacLeod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never!

"Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping;

Sir Walter Scott