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No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the day-break from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.


She paused-then, blushing, led the lay
To grace the stranger of the day;
Her mellow notes awhile prolong
The cadence of the flowing song,
Till to her lips in measured frame
The minstrel verse spontaneous came.


Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
While our slumbrous spells assail ye,
Dream not with the rising sun

Bugles here shall sound reveillie.
Sleep! the deer is in his den;

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,
How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye,
Here no bugles sound reveillie.


The hall was clear'd-the stranger's bed
Was there of mountain heather spread,
Where oft an hundred guests had lain,
And dream'd their forest sports again,
But vainly did the heath-flower shed
Its moorland fragrance round his head;
Not Ellen's spell had lull'd to rest
The fever of his troubled breast;
In broken dreams the image rose
Of varied perils, pains, and woes.
His steed now flounders in the brake,
Now sinks his barge upon the lake;
Now, leader of a broken host,

His standard falls, his honour's lost.
Then, from my couch may heavenly might
Chase that worst phantom of the night!—
Again return'd the scenes of youth,
Of confident undoubting truth;

Again his soul he interchanged

With friends whose hearts were long estranged.

They come, in dim procession led,

The cold, the faithless, and the dead;

As warm each hand, each brow as gay,
As if they parted yesterday.

And doubt distracts him at the view,
O were his senses faise or true!
Dream'd he of death, or broken vow,
Or is it all a vision now!


At length, with Ellen in a grove,
He seem'd to walk and speak of love;

She listen'd with a blush and sigh,

His suit was warm, his hopes were high.
He sought her yielded hand to clasp,
And a cold gauntlet met his grasp:

The phantom's sex was changed and gone,
Upon its head a helmet shone;
Slowly enlarged to giant size,

With darken'd cheek and threatening eyes,
The grisly visage, stern and hoar,

To Ellen still a likeness bore.-
He woke, and, panting with affright,
Recall'd the vision of the night;

The hearth's decaying brands were red,
And deep and dusky lustre shed,
Half showing, half concealing all
The uncouth trophies of the hall.
Mid those the stranger fix'd his eye
Where that huge falchion hung on high,
And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng,
Rush'd, chasing countless thoughts along,
Until, the giddy whirl to cure,

He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.


The wild rose, eglantine, and broom,
Wasted around their rich perfume;
The birch-trees wept in fragrance balm,
The aspens slept beneath the calm;
The silver light, with quivering glance,
Play'd on the water's still expanse;
Wild were the heart whose passion's sway
Could rage beneath the sober ray.
He felt its calm, that warrior guest,

While thus he communed with his breast:

"Why is it at each turn I trace
Some memory of that exiled race?
Can I not mountain maiden spy,
But she must bear the Douglas eye?
Can I not view a highland brand,
But it must match the Douglas hand?
Can I not frame a fever'd dream,
But still the Douglas is the theme?—
I'll dream no more-by manly mind
Not even in sleep is will resign'd.
My midnight orison said o'er,

I'll turn to rest, and dream no more."
His midnight orison he told,
A prayer with every bead of gold,
Consign'd to heaven his cares and woes,
And sunk in undisturb'd repose;
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew,
And morning dawn'd on Benvenue.



Note I.

-The heights of Uam-var,

And round that cavern where 'tis told

A giant made his den of old.-St. IV. p. 3.

Ua-var, as the name is pronounced, or more properly Uaigh-mor, is a mountain to the north-east of the village of Callender, in Menteith, deriving its name, which signifies the great den, or cavern, from a sort of retreat among the rocks on the south side, said, by tradition, to have been the abode of a giant. In latter times it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, who have been only extirpated within these forty or fifty years. Strictly speaking, this strong hold is not a cave, as the name would imply, but a sort of small inclosure, or recess, surrounded with large rocks and open above head. It may have been originally designed as a toil for deer, who might get in from the outside, but would find it difficult to return. This opinion prevails among the old sportsmen and deer-stalkers in the neighbourhood.

Note II.

Two dogs of black St. Hubert's breed,

Unmatch'd for courage, strength, and speed.-St. VII. p. 5. "The hounds which we call Saint Hubert's hounds, are commonly all blacke, yet neuertheless, their race is so mingled at these days, that we find them of all colours. These are the hounds which the abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept some of their race or kind, in honour or remembrance of the saint, which was a hunter with S. Eustace. Whereupon we may conceaue that (by the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall follow them into paradise. To returne vnto my former purpose, this kind of dogges hath beene dispersed through the countries of Henault, Lorayne, Flaunders, and Burgoyne. They are mighty of body, neuertheless their legges are low and short; likewise they are not swift, although they be very good of sent, hunting chaces which are farre straggled, fearing neither water nor cold, and doe more couet the chaces that smell, as foxes, bore, and such like, than other, because

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