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of undisciplined Highlanders, commanded by Lennox only of failing to support the king, but even of havi and Argyle, was unable to sustain the charge of Sir carried him out of the field and murdered him. A Edward Stanley, and especially the severe execution of this tale was revived in my remembrance, by an the Lancashire archers. The King and Surrey, who authenticated story of a skeleton, wrapped in a ba commanded the respective centres of their armies, were hide, and surrounded with an iron chain, said to ha meanwhile engaged in close and dubious conflict. I been found in the well of Home Castle; for which, James, surrounded by the flower of his kingdom, and enquiry, I could never find any better authority the impatient of the galling discharge of arrows, supported the sexton of the parish having said, that if the w also by his reserve under Bothwell, charged with such were cleaned out, he would not be surprised at such fury, that the standard of Surrey was in danger. At discovery. Home was the chamberlain of the kit that critical moment, Stanley, who had routed the left and his prime favourite; he had much to lose (in fa wing of the Scottish, pursued his career of victory, and did lose all) in consequence of James's death, and i arrived on the right flank, and in the rear of James's thing earthly to gain by that event: but the retreat, division, which, throwing itself into a circle, disputed inactivity, of the left wing, which he commanded, af the battle till night came on. Surrey then drew back defeating Sir Edmund Iloward, and even the circui his forces; for the Scottish centre not having been stance of his returning unhurt, and loaded with spe broken, and their left wing being victorious, he get from so fatal a conflict, rendered the propagation doubted the event of the field. The Scottish army, any calumny against him easy and acceptable. Oth however, felt their loss, and abandoned the field of bat-reports gave a still more romantic turn to the kin te in disorder before dawn). They lost, perhaps, from fate, and averred, that James, weary of greatness aft eight to ten thousand men, but that included the very | the carnage among his nobles, had gone on a pilgrima prime of their nobility, gentry, and even clergy. Scarce to merit absolution for the death of his father, and !! a family of eminence but has an ancestor killed at breach of his oath of amity to Henry. In particula Flodden; and there is no province in Scotland, even at it was objected to the English, that they could be this day, where the battle is mentioned without a sen slow the token of the iron belt; which, however, 1 sation of terror and sorrow. The English lost also a was likely enough to have laid aside on the day i great number of men, perhaps within one-third of the battle, as encumbering his personal exertions. The vanquished, but they were of inferior note.-See the produce a better evidence, the monarch's sword as only distinct detail of the field of Flodden in PINKER-dagger, which are still preserved in the Herald's Colley Ton's History, Book XI.; all former accounts being full in London. Slowe has recorded a degrading story of blunder and inconsistency.

the disgrace with which the remains of the unfortuna The spot, from which Clara views the battle, must monarch were treated in his time.- An uphewn colum be supposed to have been on a hillock commanding marks the spot where James fell, still called the king the rear of the English right wing, which was defeated, Stone. and in which conflict Marmion is supposed to have fallen.

Note 18. Stanza xxxvi.

- - fanatic Brook Note 16. Stanza xxiv.

The fair cathedral storm'd and took. -- Brian Tunstall, stainless knight.

This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had been Sir Brian Tunstall, called in the romantic language garrisoned on the part of the king took place in the of the time, Tunstall the Undefiled, was one of the few great civil war. Lord Brook, who, with Sir John Gill Englishmen of rank slain at Flodden. He figures in commanded the assailants, was shot with a miskell the ancient English poem, to which I may safely refer ball through the visor of his helmet. The royalist my reader; as an edition, with full explanatory notes, remarked, that he was killed by a shot fired from $ has been published by my friend Mr Henry Weber. Chad's Cathedral, and upon Si Chad's day, and received Tunstall perhaps derived his epithet of undefiled from his death-wound in the very eye with which, he bal his white armour and banner, the latter bearing a said, he hoped to see the ruin of all the cathedrals white cock about to crow, as well as from his unstained England. The magnificent church in question suffered loyalty and knightly faith. His place of residence was cruelly upon this, and other occasions; the principal Thurland Castle.

spire being ruined by the fire of the besiegers
Note 17. Stanza xxxv.
View not that corpse mistrustfully,
Defaced and mangled thougb it be;

Upon revising the Poem, it seems proper to mention
Nor to yon Border castle high

the following particulars: Look porthward with upbraiding eye.

The lines in page 75, There can be no doubt that King James fell in the

Whose doom discording neighbours sought, battle of Flodden. He was killed, says the curious

Content with equity unbought; French Gazette, within a lance's length of the Earl of Surrey; and the same account adds, that none of his have been unconsciously borrowed from a passagen division were made prisoners, though many were killed; Dryden's beautiful epistle to John Driden of Chesterton a circumstance that testifies the desperation of their The ballad of Lochinvar, p. 92, is in a very shyfir resistance. The Scottish historians record many of the degree founded on a ballad called « Katharine Jantaru." idle reports which passed among the vulgar of their which may be found in the « Minstrelsy of the Scotti day. Home was accused, by the popular voice, not Border.»

The Lady of the Lake.



This poem is Duscribed,




Tre Scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The Time of Action includes Six Days, and the transactions of each day occupy a Canto.

The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,
And deep his midnight lair had made
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade;
But when the sun bis beacon red
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head,
The deep-mouth'd blood-hounds' heavy bay
Resounded up the rocky way,
And faint, from farther distance borne,
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn,





[ Hier of the North ! that mouldering long last bung

Ou tue witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring, And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,

Till envious ivy did around thee cling, Muffing with verdant ringlet every string,

O miastrel harp, still must thine accents sleep? Vid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring,

full must the sweeter sounds their silence keep, Ser bid a warrior smile, por teach a maid to weep?

II. As chief, who hears his warder call, « To arms! the foemen storm the wall, The antler'd monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took,

The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; · Like crested leader proud and high,

Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky; · A moment gazed adown the dale,

A moment snuff d the tainted gale,
A moment listend to the cry,
That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh;
Then, as the headmost foes appear'd,
With one brave bound the copse be clear'd,
And, stretching forward free aud far,
Sought the wild heaths of Vam-Var.

Set thus, in ancient days of Caledon, i as thy voice mute arnid the festal crowd, ! Sba lay of hopeless love, or glory won,

Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. At each according pause was heard aloud | Thive ardeat symphony sublime and high ! for dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd;

Per still the burthen of thy minstrelsy Was knighthood's dauntless deed and beauty's match

less eye. Ovike once more! how rude soe'er the hand

That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray; u wake once more! though scarce my skill command

Some feeble echoing of thinc earlier lay:
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away,

And all unworthy of thy pobler strain,
Taif one heart throb higher at its sway,
1. The wizard note has not been touch'd in vain.
Phena silent be no more! enchantress, wake again!

III. Yelld on the view the opening pack, Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back; To many a mingled sound at once The awaken'd mountain gave response. An hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong, Clatter'd an hundred steeds along, Their peal the merry horns rung out, An bundred voices joind the shout; With hark and whoop and wild halloo, No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. Far from the tumult fled the roe, Close in her covert cower'd the doc, The falcon, from her cairn on high, Cast on the rout a wondering eye, Till far beyond her piercing ken The hurricane had swept the glen. Faint and more faint, its failing din Return'd from cavern, cliff, and linn, And silence settled, wide and still, On the lone wood and mighty hill.

IV. Less loud the sounds of sylvan war Disturb'd the heights of Uam-Var, And roused the cavern, where, 't iš told, A giant made his den of old; (1) For cre that steep ascent was won, High in his pathway hung the sun, And many a gallant, stay'd perforce, Was fain to breathe his faltering horse, And of the trackers of the deer Scarce half the lessening pack was near; So shrewdly, on the mountain-side, Had the bold burst their mettle tried.

And deem'd the stag must turn to bay,
Where that huge rampart barr'd the way;
Already glorying in the prize,
Measured his antlers with his eyes;
For the death-wound, and death-halloo,
Muster d his breath, his whinyard drew;- (3)
But thundering as he came prepared,
With ready arm and weapon bared,
The wily quarry shunn'd the shock,
And turn'd him from the opposing rock;
Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
In the deep Trosach's wildest nook
His solitary refuge took.
There while, close couch'd, the thicket shed
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head,
He heard the baffled dogs in vain
Rave through the hollow pass amain,
Chiding the rocks that yelld again.

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Close on the hounds the hunter came, To cheer them on the vanish'd game; But, stumbling in the rugged dell, The gallant horse exhausted fell. The impatient rider strove in vain To rouse him with the spur and rein, For the good steed, his labours o'er, Stretch'd his stiff limbs to rise no more. Then touch'd with pity and remorse, He sorrow'd o'er the expiring horse : « I little thought, when first thy rein I slack'd upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle e'er should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed; Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant gray'»-

The noble stag was pausing now,
Upon the mountain's southern brow,
Where broad extended, far beneath,
The varied realms of fair Menteith.
With anxious eye he wander'd o'er
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor,
And ponder'd refuge from his toil,
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle.
But nearer was the copse-wood gray,
That waved and wept on Loch-Achray,
And mingled with the pine-trees blue
On the bold cliffs of Ben-venue.
Freslı vigour with the hope return'd,
With flying foot the heath he spurnd,
Held westward with unwearied race,
And left behind the panting chase.

'T were long to tell what steeds gave o'er,
As swept the hunt through Cambus-more;
What reins were tightend in despair,
When rose Benledis ridge in air;
Who flaggd upon Bochastle's heath,
Who shunnd to stem the flooded Teith,
For twice, that day, from shore to shore,
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er.
Few were the stragglers, following far,
That reach'd the lake of Vennachar;
And when the Brigg of Turk was won,
The headmost horseman rode alone.

Alone, but with unbated zeal,
That horseman plied the scourge and steel;
For jaded pow, and spent with toil,
Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soil,
While every gasp with sobs he drew,
The labouring stag straind full in view.
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,
Uomatch'd for courage, breath, and speed, (2)
Fast on his flying traces came,
And all but won that desperate game;
For scarce a spear's length from his haunch,
Vindictive toil'd the blood-hounds staunch;
Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry strain.
Thus up the margin of the lake,
Between the precipice and brake,'
O'er stock and rock their race they take.

The hunter mark'd that mountain high,
The lone lake's western boundary,

Then through the dell his horn resounds,
From vain pursuit to call the hounds.
Back limp'd, with slow and crippled pace,
The sulky leaders of the chase;
Close to their master's side they pressid,
With drooping tail and humbled crest;
But still the dingle's hollow throat
Prolong'd the swelling bucle-note.
The owlets started from their dream,
The eagles answerd with their scream,
Round and around the sounds were cast,
Till echo seem'd an answering blast;
And on the bunter hied his way,
To join some comrades of the day;
Yet often paused, so strange the road,
So wondrous were the scenes it show'd.

XI. The western waves of ebbing day Rollid o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each fliaty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire, But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid,

Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle; Roand many an iosolated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. The rocky summits, split and rent, Form'd turret, dome, or battlement, Or seem'd fantastically set With cupola or minaret, Wild erests as pagod ever deck'd, Or mosque of eastern architect. Nor were these earth-born castles bare, Nor lacks they many a banner fair; For, from their shiver'd brows display'd, Far o'er the unfathomable glade, All twinkling with the dew-drops sheen, The briar-rose fell in streamers green, And creepiog shrubs, of thousand dyes, Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs.

XIV. And now, to issue from the glen, No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, Unless he climb, with footing nice, A far-projecting precipice. (4) The broom's tough roots bis ladder made, The lazel saplings lent their aid; And thus an airy point he won, Where, gleaming with the setting sun, One burnish'd sheet of living gold, Loch Katrine lay beneath him roll'd, In all her length far winding lay, Witli promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land. High on the south, huge Ben-venue Down on the lake in masses threw Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurld, The fragments of an earlier world; A wildering forest feather'd o'er His ruin'd sides and summit hoar, While on the north, through middle air, Ben-an heaved liigh his forehead bare.

XII. Boon nature scatter'd, free and wild, Each plant, or flower, the mountain's child. Here eglantine embalm'd the air, llawtborn and hazel mingled there; The primrose pale, and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower; Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Group'd their dark hues with every stain The weather-beaten crags retain. With boughs that quaked at every breath, Gray birch and aspen wept beneath ; Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock; And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung His sbatter'd trunk, and frequent flung, Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high, His boughs athwart the narrow'd sky. Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, Where glist’ning streamers waved and danced, 1 The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's delicious blue;' So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream.

XV. 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 lurrets of a cloister gray. 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 matin's distant hum, While the deep peal's commanding tone Should wake, in yonder islet lone, A sainted hermit 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.

XIII. Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep A parrow 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, Sull broader sweep its channels made. The shaccy mounds no longer stood, Emnerging 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 la islet in an inlaad sea.

XVI. « Blithe were it then to wander here! But now,--beshrew yon nimble deer,Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, The copse must give my evening fare; Some mossy bank 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 green-wood 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.-!

Than every free-born glance confesso
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 call'd forth
The indignant spirit of the North.
One only passion, unreveald,
With maiden pride the maid conceald,
Yet no less purely felt the flame-
Opeed I tell that passion's name!

I am alone;—my bugle-strain
May call some straggler of the train;
Or, fall the worst that may betide,
Ere now this falchion has been tried.»-

But scarce again his horn he wound,
When 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 conceald 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 upraised, 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 seemd to stand,
The guardian Naiad of the strand.

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 brown,
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-lower dash'd the dew;
E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head,
Elastic from her airy tread;
What though upon her speech there hung
The accents of the mountain tongue,
Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear,
The list'ner held his breath to hear.

A chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ;
Her satin snood, her silken plaid,
Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd.
And seldom was a snood 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 fold combined

Above a heart more good and kind.
Her 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,

XX. Impatient of the silent horn, Now on the gale her voice was borne :« Father!» she cried; the rocks around Loved to prolong the gentle sound. A while she paused, no answer came, « Malcolm, was thine the blast!» the name Less resolutely utter'd fell, The echoes could not catch the swell. «A stranger I,» the huntsman said, Advancing from the hazel shade. The maid, alarm’d, with hasty oar Push'd her light shallop from the shore, And, when a space was gain'd between, Closer she drew her bosom's screen (So forth the startled swan would swing, So turn to prune bis ruftled wing); Then safe, though flutter'd and amazed, She paused, and on the stranger gazed, Not his the form, nor his the eye, That youthful maidens wont to tly.

XXI. On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press d its signet sage, Yet had not quench'd the open truth, And fiery vehemence of youth; Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare, The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, Of hasty love, or headlong ire. His limbs were cast in manly mould, For hardy sports, or contest bold; And though in peaceful garb array'd, And weaponless except his blade, His stately mien as well implied A high-born heart, a martial pride, As if a baron's crest he wore, And sheathed in armour trod the shore. Slighting the petty need he show'd, He told of his benigbted road; His ready speech flowd fair and free, In phrase of gentlest courtesy; Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland, Less used to sue than to command.

XXII. A while the maid the stranger eyed, And, reassured, at length replied, That Highland halls were open still To wilder'd wanderers of the hill. « Nor think you unexpected come To yon loue isle, our desert home,

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