THE TROSACHS. LOCH-CATK1NE. 13 



" Grey Superstition's wliisper dread 

 Debarred tlie spot to vulgar tread : 

 For there, she says, did fays resort, 

 And satyrs hold their sylvan court, 

 By moonlight tread their mystic maze, 

 And blast the rash beholder's gaze." 



In sailing, you discover many arms of the lake here a bold headland, and 

 there black rocks dip in unfathomable water there the white sand in the bottom 

 of the bay bleached for ages by the waves. In walking on the north side, the 

 road is sometimes cut through the face of the solid rock, which rises xipwards 

 of two hundred feet perpendicular above the surface of the lake. Before the 

 road was made, the precipice had to be mounted by a kind of natural ladder, 

 like that described in the poem 



" No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 

 Unless he climb with footing nice 

 3ome far projecting precipice j 

 The broom's tough roots his ladder made 

 The hazel saplings lent their aid." 



Here every rock has its echo, every grove is vocal with the harmony of birds, or 

 the songs of women and children gathering hazel-nuts in their season. Down the 

 side of the opposite mountain, after a shower of rain, flow a hundred foaming 

 streams, which rush into the lake with the noise and velocity of cataracts, and 

 spread their white froth on its surface. On one side, the water-eagle sits in 

 undisturbed majesty on his well-known rock, in sight of his eyry on Benvenue. 

 The heron stalks among the reeds in search of his prey ; and the sportive wild- 

 ducks gamble along the surface, or dive under the waters of the lake. On the 

 other hand, the wild goats climb where they have scarce a footing, and take 

 their sport on precipices which seem as if inaccessible to all but the eagle or 

 raven. Perched on the highest trees, or rocky pinnacles, the winged tenants 

 of the forest look down with composed defiance at man. The scene is closed 

 by a west view of the lake, having its sides lined with alternate clumps of wood, 

 and cultivated fields, and the smoke from farm-houses, concealed by the inter- 

 vening woods, rising in spiral columns through the air. The prospect is bounded 

 by the towering Alps of Arrochar, chequered with snow, or hiding their summits 

 in the clouds. 



in an attitude of defence ; when the mysterious figure, springing forward at the sight, exclaimed, " Walter 

 of Drunkie, spare my life it is I." It was an unfortunate female maniac, who had taken shelter in this 

 dismal solitude. Spcnce's " Sketches." 



VOL. II. E 



