"Scathe" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... said, "he maddens now! "Flames divine do scathe the clod; "Round his reeling Helot brow "Stings the ...
— Old Spookses' Pass • Isabella Valancy Crawford
... aboot that, Andrew. But my opeenion upo' that text is jist this—that ilka vessel has to haud the fill o' 't, and what rins ower may be committed to Him, for ye can haud it no langer. Them that winna tak tent (care) 'll tak scathe. It's a sweer (lazy) thochtless way to gang to the Almichty wi' ilka fash. Whan I'm driven to ane mair, that ane sall aye be Him. Ye min' the story about my namesake and ...
— Alec Forbes of Howglen • George MacDonald
... me about ten miles farther on to the Church. A groom rode the racehorse, who took no scathe from his thundering gallop of the day before. It left deeper traces upon me. I got through the Services, however, and with good returns for the Mission. Twice since, on my Mission tours, I have found myself at that same memorable house; and on each occasion, a large company ...
— The Story of John G. Paton - Or Thirty Years Among South Sea Cannibals • James Paton
... by his good will. I will do more for your lordship than that, said Balin; and so he rode more than a pace, and found the knight with a damosel in a forest, and said, Sir knight, ye must come with me unto King Arthur, for to tell him of your sorrow. That will I not, said the knight, for it will scathe me greatly, and do you none avail. Sir, said Balin, I pray you make you ready, for ye must go with me, or else I must fight with you and bring you by force, and that were me loath to do. Will ye be my warrant, said the knight, an I go with you? Yea, said Balin, or ...
— Le Morte D'Arthur, Volume I (of II) - King Arthur and of his Noble Knights of the Round Table • Thomas Malory
... mote bee thenne, Butt eefte[8] nowe flyeth to the odher syde; In hallie[9] preeste apperes the ribaudes[10] penne, Inne lithie[11] moncke apperes the barronnes pryde: 10 But rhym wythe somme, as nedere[12] widhout teethe, Make pleasaunce to the sense, botte maie do lyttel scathe[13]. ...
— The Rowley Poems • Thomas Chatterton
... fame, duty calls, Trumpet-tongued from the walls Girding great Rome; Battle for truth and faith, Battle lest hostile scathe Crush us, or fetters ...
— The Modern Scottish Minstrel, Volume VI - The Songs of Scotland of the Past Half Century • Various
... my mightiest knights, And drawing foul ensample from fair names, Sinned also, till the loathsome opposite Of all my heart had destined did obtain, And all through thee! so that this life of mine I guard as God's high gift from scathe and wrong, Not greatly care to lose; but rather think How sad it were for Arthur, should he live, To sit once more within his lonely hall, And miss the wonted number of my knights, And miss to hear high talk of noble deeds As in the golden days before thy sin. For which of us, who ...
— Idylls of the King • Alfred, Lord Tennyson
... is many a man narrowed and sharpened by metaphysical inquiry to such a degree as to count the indirection and freedom of kindly chat irksome, and the occasion of a needless blunting of that quick mental edger with which he must scathe all he touches. But the stiffness of Mr. Johns was not that of constant mental strain; he did not refine upon his dogmas; but he gave them such hearty entertainment, and so inwrapped his spirit with their ponderous ...
— The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 89, March, 1865 • Various
... satisfactorily, and proceeded to ride home before the day of truce should be ended. From sunrise on the one day until sunset on the next, so the Border law ordained, all Scots and Englishmen who were present at the Wardens' meeting should be free of scathe. Now the Warden of Liddesdale at that time was Sir Walter Scott of Branxholme, laird of Buccleuch. He was one of the greatest men of his century; a "fyrebrande," according to Queen Elizabeth, and a fierce enemy according to those who incurred ...
— Stories of the Border Marches • John Lang and Jean Lang
... whose blighted face Wears desolation's withering trace; Long shall my memory retain Thy shattered huts and trampled grain, With every mark of martial wrong, That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont! Yet though thy garden's green arcade The marksman's fatal post was made, Though on thy shattered beeches fell The blended rage of shot and shell, Though from thy blackened portals torn, ...
— Some Poems by Sir Walter Scott • Sir Walter Scott |
