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“ I little thought, when first thy rein Alone, but with unbated zeal,

I slack'd upon the banks of Seine, That horseman plied the scourge and steel;

That Highland eagle e'er should feed For jaded now, and spent with toil,

On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed! Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soil,

Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, While every gasp with sobs he drew,

That costs thy life, my gallant grey!”
The labouring stag strain'd full in view.
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,

Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed, Then through the dell his horn resounds,
Fast on his flying traces came

From vain pursuit to call the hounds. And all but won that desperate game;

Back limp’d, with slow and crippled pace, For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch, The sulky leaders of the chase; Vindictive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch;

Close to their master's side they press’d, Nor nearer might the dogs attain,

With drooping tail and humbled crest; Nor farther might the quarry strain.

But still the dingle’s hollow throat Thus up the margin of the lake,

Prolong'd the swelling bugle-note. tween the precipice and brake,

The owlets started from their dream, O'er stock and rock their race they take.

The eagles answer'd with their scream,

Round and around the sounds were cast, VIII.

Till echo seem'd an answering blast; The Hunter mark'd that mountain high,

And on the hunter hied his way, The lone lake's western boundary,

To join some comrades of the day; And deem'd the stag must turn to bay,

Yet often paused, so strange the road,
Where that huge rampart barr'd the way;

So wondrous were the scenes it show'd.
Already glorying in the prize,
Measured his antlers with his eyes;

For the death-wound and death-halloo,

The western waves of ebbing day Muster'd his breath, his whinyard drew;-

Rollid o'er the glen their level way; But thundering as he came prepared,

Each purple peak, each flinty spire, With ready arm and weapon bared,

Was bathed in floods of living fire. The wily quarry shunn'd the shock,

But not a setting beam could glow And turn’d him from the opposing rock;

Within the dark ravines below, Then, dashing down a darksome glen,

Where twined the path in shadow hid, Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,

Round many a rocky pyramid, In the deep Trosach'83 wildest nook

Shooting abruptly from the dell His solitary refuge took.

Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle; There, while close couch'd, the thicket

Round many an insulated mass, shed

The native bulwarks of the pass, Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head,

Huge as the tower which builders vain He heard the baffled dogs in vain

Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. Rave through the hollow pass amain,

The rocky summits, split and rent, Chiding the rocks that yell’d again.

Form'd turret, dome, or battlement,

Or seem'd fantastically set

With cupola or minaret,
Cloge on the hounds the hunter came,

Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd, To cheer them on the vanish'd game;

Or mosque of Eastern architect. But, stumbling in the rugged dell,

Nor were these earth-born castles bare,? The gallant horse exhausted fell.

Nor lack'd they many a banner fair; The impatient rider strove in vain

For, from their shiver'd brows display'd, To rouse him with the spur and rein,

Far o'er the unfathomable glade, For the good steed, his labours o'er,

All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen, Stretch'd his stiff limbs, to rise no more;

The brier-rose fell in streamers green, Then, touch'd with pity and remorse,

And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes, He sorrow'd o'er the expiring horse.

Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs.

I See Appendix, Note B.

Ibid, Note C. 8 " The term Trorachs signifies the rough or bristled territory."-GRARAM. * MS." And on the hunter hied his pace,

To meet some comrades of the chase."

5 MS.-" The mimic castles of the pass."
6 The Tower of Babel.-Genesis, xi. 1-9.
7 MS.—"Nor were these mighty bulwarks bare."
# MS.-"Bright glistening with the dewdrops sheen."


XIV. Boon nature scatter'd, free and wild,

And now, to issue from the glen, Each plant or flower, the mountain's child.

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, Here eglantine embalm’d the air,

Unless he climb, with footing nice, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there;

A far projecting precipice.* The primrose pale and violet flower,

The broom's tough roots his ladder made, Found in each ciuff a narrow bower;

The hazel saplings lent their aid; Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side,

And thus an airy point he won, Emblems of punishment and pride,

Where, gleaming with the setting sun, Group'd their dark hues with every stain

One burnish'd sheet of living gold, The weather-beaten crags retain.

Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolla, With boughs that quaked at every breath,

In all her length far winding lay, Grey birch and aspen wept beneath;

With promontory, creek, and bay, Aloft, the ash and warrior oak

And islands that, empurpled bright, Cast anchor in the rifted rock;

Floated amid the livelier light, And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung

And mountains, that like giants stand, His shatter'd trunk, and frequent flung,'

To sentinel enchanted land. Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high,

High on the south, huge Benvenue His boughs athwart the narrow'd sky.

Down on the lake in masses threw Highest of all, where white peaks glanced,

Crags, knolls and mounds, confusedly hurl d, Where glist’ning streamers waved and danced,

The fragments of an earlier world; The wanderer's eye could barely view

A wildering forest feather'd o'er The summer heaven's delicious blue;

His ruin'd sides and summit hoar, So wondrous wild, the whole might seem

While on the north, through middle air, The scenery of a fairy dream.

Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare.

Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep
A narrow inlet, still and deep,
Affording scarce such breadth of brim,
As served the wild duck's brood to swim.
Lost for a space, through thickets veering,
But broader when again appearing,
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace;
And farther as the hunter stray'd,
Still broader sweep its channels made.
The shaggy mounds no longer stood,
Emerging from entangled wood,
But, wave-encircled, seem'd to float,
Like castle girdled with its moat ;
Yet broader floods extending still
Divide them from their parent hill,
Till each, retiring, claims to be
An islet in an inland sea.

From the steep promontory gazed ''
The stranger, raptured and amazed.
And, " What a scene were here," he cried,
“ For princely pomp, or churchman's pride!
On this bold brow, a lordly tower;
In that soft vale, a lady's bower;
On yonder meadow, far away,
The turrets of a cloister grey;
How blithely might the bugle-horn
Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn!
How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute
Chime, when the groves were still and mute !
And, when the midnight moon should lave
Her forehead in the silver wave,
How solemn on the ear would come
The holy matins' distant hum,
While the deep peal's commanding tone
Should wake, in yonder islet lone,

I MS." His scathed trunk, and frequent flung,

7 MS -" His ruin'd sides and fragments hoar,
Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high,

While on the north to middle air."
His rugged arms athwart the sky.

& According to Graham, Ben-an, or Bennan, is a mere diHighest of all, where white peaks glanced, minutive of Ben-Mountain.

Where twinkling streamers waved and danced." 9 "Perhaps the art of landscape painting in poetry, has never ? MS._" Affording scarce such breadth of food,

been displayed in higher perfection than in these stanzas, to As served to float the wild-duck's brood."

which rigid criticism might possibly object that the picture is

somewhat too minute, and that the contemplation of it de3 MS.--" Emerging dry-shod from the wood."

tains the traveller somewhat too long from the main purpose * See Appendix, Note D.

of his pilgrimage, but which it would be an act of the greatest 5 Loch-Ketturin is the Celtic pronunciation. In his Notes Not so the magnificent scene which bursts upon the bewil

injustice to break into fragments, and present by piecemeal. to The Fair Maid of Perth, the author has signified his belief dered hunter as he emerges at length from the dell

, and comthat the lake was named after the Catterins, or wild robbers, who haunted its shores.

mands at one view the beautiful expanse of Loch Katrine."

Critical Recimo, August 1820. 6 Benvenut-is literally the little mountain- e as con- 10 MS." From the high promontory gazed trasted with Benledi and Benlomond.

The stranger, aue struck and amazed."

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A sainted herinit from his cell,
To drop a bead with every knell-
And bugle, lute, and bell, and all,
Should each bewilder'd stranger call
To friendly feast, and lighted hall.'

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,
Of finer form, or lovelier face!
What though the sun, with ardent frown,
Had slightly tinged her cheek with

The sportive toil, which, short and light,
Had dyed her glowing hue so bright,
Served too in hastier swell to show
Short glimpses of a breast of snow:
What though no rule of courtly grace
To measured mood had train'd her pace,-
A foot more light, a step more true,
Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the

E'en the slight harebell raised its head,
Elastic from her airy tread:
What though upon her speech there hung
The accents of the mountain tongue,_7
Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear,
The listener held his breath to hear!

XVI. “ Blithe were it then to wander here! But now,—beshrew yon nimble deer,Like that same hermits, thin and spare, The copse must give my evening fare;


my couch must be, Some rustling oak my canopy.? Yet pass we that; the war and chase Give little choice of resting-place :A summer night, in greenwood spent, Were but to-morrow's merriment: But hosts may in these wilds abound, Such as are better miss d than found; To meet with Highland plunderers here, Were worse than loss of steed or deer.-8 I am alone;—my bugle-strain May call some straggler of the train ; Or, fall the worst that may betide, Ere now this falchion bas been tried."

Some mossy

XVII. But scarce again his horn he wound, Vi hen lo! forth starting at the sound, From underneath an aged oak, That slanted from the islet rock, A damsel guider of its way, A little skiff shot to the bay, That round the promontory steep Led its deep line in graceful sweep, Eddying, in almost viewless wave, The weeping willow-twig to lave, And kiss, with whispering sound and slow, The beach of pebbles bright as snow. The boat had touch'd this silver strand, Just as the Hunter left his stand, And stood conceal'd amid the brake, To view this Lady of the Lake. The maiden paused, as if again She thought to catch the distant strain. With head up-raised, and look intent, And eye and ear attentive bent, And locks flung back, and lips apart, Like monument of Grecian art, in listening mood, she seem'd to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.

XIX. A Chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid; Hler satin snood, her silken plaid, Hier golden brooch, such birth betray’d. And seldom was a spood amid Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the raven's wing; And seldom o'er a breast so fair, Mantled a plaid with modest care, And never brooch the folds combined Above a heart more good and kind. I!er kindness and her worth to spy, You need but gaze on Ellen's eye; Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, Gives back the shaggy banks more true, Than every free-born glance confess'd The guileless movements of her breast; Whether joy danced in her dark eye, Or woe or pity claim’d a sigh, Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer, Or tale of injury callid forth The indignant spirit of the North. One only passion unreveal'd, With maiden pride the maid conceald, Yet not less purely felt the flame;O need I tell that passion's name!


1 MS.-" To hospitable feast and hall."
2 118.--" And hollovo trunk of some old tree,

My chamber for the night must be." 3 [o Appendix, Note E. 19.-" The hugle shrill again he wound,

And lo! forth starting at the sound." $IS_A little skiff shot to the hay.

The Hunter left his airy stand,

And when the boat had touch'd the sand,
Conceal'd he stood amid the brake,

To view this Lady of the Lake." 6 MS.—" A finer forin, a fairer face,

Had never marble Nymph or Grace,

That boasts the Grecian chisel's trace." 7 MS.-" The accents of a stranger forigue." # See Note on Canto Ill. stanza 5.

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