Sonnets From The Moors Of Scotland by John Maxwell Steele-gravesSonnets From The Moors Of Scotland by John Maxwell Steele-graves

Sonnets From The Moors Of Scotland

byJohn Maxwell Steele-graves

Paperback | February 1, 2012

Pricing and Purchase Info


Earn 100 plum® points

Prices and offers may vary in store

Out of stock online

Not available in stores


This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1875. Excerpt: ... THE FLIGHT FROM MARSTON MOOR: 'They say our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways.' King Henry V. 'Battle, murder, and sudden death.' Litany. I Around my brow the hairs are grey, The blood is cold within my veins, And when the grave's surrounding clay These shrunk and withered limbs contains, It scarce will have a deadlier chill Than palsies now my breathing frame, For hand and eye and thought and will Long, long, have ceased to be the same;--The hand is nerveless--in the eye A leaden dull vacuity; And were it not that sometimes rise, Amid Remembrance' evening skies, The sunny clouds, where forms of old, And deeds, and things, appear unrolled To cheat away a passing hour With visionary life and power, The age 1 soldier's heart would find Its single prayer confined to crave That gift, to every grief assigned--The slumber of a quiet grave. Ii Aye--oft, as now--when moonlight gave Her virgin smile to yonder wave, Or, like the wild birds' vagrant play, The fickle beams would start and stray Now on the rocky bank, and now Along the beech's hoary bough; And seem with fairy feet to leap From branch to branch and steep to steep--The memory of a night like this Has risen in all its bitterness. A night as calm, as bright, as fair, A night--but with the thought returning I, feel th' involuntary tear Along its furrowed channel burning; My sinews seem to youth restored, My hand is seeking for the sword, Revenge's fever once again Is thrilling through my idle brain; And I forget that Time has bid New fears and enmities arise, And in the same oblivion hid The injured and the injuries.--But, if ye list the tale to hear, A tale of other days, It will not echo to your ear Dull sounds of blame or praise. It will not count the garlands torn To grace...
Title:Sonnets From The Moors Of ScotlandFormat:PaperbackDimensions:22 pages, 9.69 × 7.44 × 0.05 inPublished:February 1, 2012Publisher:General Books LLCLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0217877230

ISBN - 13:9780217877237