THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO THIRD. The Gathering. TIME rolls his ceaseless course. The race Who danced our infancy upon their knee, of yore And told our marvelling boy-hood legends store, Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be! How few, all weak and wither'd of their force, Wait, on the verge of dark eternity, To Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his cease less 'course. G Bayerische München Yet live there still who can remember well, How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, And solitary heath, the signal knew; And fast the faithful clan around him drew, What time the warning note was keenly wound, What time aloft their kindred banner flew, While clamorous war-pipes yell'd the gathering sound, And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round. II. The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Loch-Katrine blue; The mountain shadows on her breast Were neither broken nor at rest; CANTO III. THE GATHERING. In bright uncertainty they lie, The doe awoke, and to the lawn, Begemm'd with dew-drops, led her fawn; The grey mist left the mountain side, The torrent shew'd its glistening pride; The lark sent down her revelry; The blackbird and the speckled thrush Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 99 III. No thought of peace, no thought of rest, And eyed the rising sun, and laid His hand on his impatient blade. Beneath a rock, his vassals' care Was prompt the ritual to prepare, With deep and deathful meaning fraught ; For such Antiquity had taught Was preface meet, ere yet abroad The Cross of Fire should take its road. The shrinking band stood oft aghast She spread her dark sails on the wind, Silenced the warblers of the brake. IV. A heap of wither'd boughs was piled, Of juniper and rowan wild, |