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 bloodhounds stanch ; 



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, 

 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 ; — 

 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 Trosachs' wildest nook 

 Hi^ 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, 



133 



