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There was mounting 'mong Græmes of LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTS
MAN. the Netherby clan; Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they My hawk is tired of perch and hood, rode and they ran;
My idle greyhound loathes his food, There was racing and chasing on Canno- My horse is weary of his stall, bie Lea,
And I am sick of captive thrall. But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did I wish I were as I have been, they see!
Hunting the hart in forests green, So daring in love, and so dauntless in With bended how and bloodhound free, war,
For that's the life is meet for me.
I hate to learn the ebb of time
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring, The sun has left the lea,
The sable rook my vespers sing; The orange-flower perfumes the bower,
These towers, although a king's they be, The breeze is on the sea.
Have not a hall of joy for me.
No more at dawning morn I rise,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew; The village inaid steals through the shade A blithesome welcome blithely meet, Her shepherd's suit to hear;
And lay my trophies at her feet, To Beauty shy, by lattice high,
While fled the eve on wing of glee, Sings high-born Cavalier.
That life is lost to love and me!
Now reigns o'er earth and sky,
The western waves of ebbing day
Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
Was bathed in floods of living fire. "A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, But not a setting beam could glow A weary lot is thine!
Within the dark ravines below, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, Where twined the path, in shadow hid, And press the rue for wine!
Round many a rocky pyramid, A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, Shooting abruptly from the dell A feather of the blue,
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; A doublet of the Lincoln-green,
Round many an insulated mass,
The native bulwarks of the pass,
Huge as the tower which builders vain No more of me you knew.
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
Their rocky summits, split and rent, "This morn is merry June, I trow, Formed turret, dome, or battlement, The rose is budding fain;
Or seemed fantastically set But she shall bloom in winter snow With cupola or minaret, Ere we two meet again.”
Wild crests as pagod ever decked, He turned his charger as he spake, Or mosque of Eastern architect. l'pon the river shore;
Nor were these earth-born castles bare, He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; Said, “Adieu forevermore,
For, from their shivered brows displayed, My love!
Far o'er the unfathomable glade, And adieu forevermore."
All twinkling with the dew-drop sheen,
The brier-rose fell in streamers green, Loch-Katrine lay heneath him rolled; And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes, In all her length far winding lay, Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. With promontory, creek, and bay,
And islands that, empurpled bright, Boon nature scattered, free and wild, Floated amid the livelier light; Each plantorflower, the mountain's child. And mountains, that like giants stand, Here eglantine embalmed the air, To sentinel enchanted land. Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; High on the south, huge Ben-venue The primrose pale, and violet flower, Down to the lake in masses threw Found in each clits a narrow bower; Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, hurled, Emblems of punishment and pride, The fragments of an earlier world; Grouped their dark hues with every stain, A wildering forest feathered o'er The weather-beaten crags retain.
His ruined sides and summit hoar, With boughs that quaked at every breath, While on the north, through middle air, Gray birch and aspen wept beneath; Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock;
From the steep promontory gazed And higher yet, the pine-tree hung The stranger, raptured and amazed, His shattered trunk, and frequent Aung, And “What a scene were here,” he cried, Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, “For princely pomp or churchman's His boughs athwart the narrowed sky.
pride! Highest of all, where white peaks glaneed, On this bold brow, a lordly tower; Where glistening streamers waved and in that soft vale, a lady's bower; danced,
On yonder meadow, far away, The wanderer's eye could barely view
The turrets of a cloister gray; The summer heaven's delicious blue; How blithely might the bugle-horn So wondrous wild, the whole might seem Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn! The scenery of a fairy dream.
How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute, Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep Chime, when the groves are still an: A narrow inlet, still and deep,
He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest, And now, to issue from the glen,
Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.
From the rain-drops shall borrow;
To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,