632 
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 dro; a bead with every knell—=: 
And bugle, lute, and bell, and all, 
Should each bewildered stranger call 
To friendly feast, and lighted hall, » 
Again, stanza 17: 
€* 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 tittle skif shot tothe 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 touched this silver strand 
Just as the hunter left his stand, 
And stood concealed amid the brake, 
go view this Lady of the Lake. 
Lhe 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 5 
Aind locks flung back, and lips apart, 
Like monument of Grecian art: 
in listening meod she seemed to-stand, 
The guardian Naiad of the s€rand.” 
Interspersed throughout are numerous 
ballads, many of which have consider- 
able merit, The following is from the 
canto of the Island: | 
SONG. | 
€* Not faster yonder rowers’ might 
Flings from their oars the spray, 
Not faster yonder rippling bright, 
‘That tracks the shallop’s course in light, 
Melts in the lake away, 
Than men from memory erase 
The benefits of fo.mer days; 
Then, stranger, go, good speed thee while, 
Nor think again of the lonely isle. 
** High place to thee in royal court, 
High place in batiJed line, 
Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport, 
Where beauty sees the brave resort, 
The honoured meed be thine. 
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, 
Thy lady-coastant, kind, and dear 5 
And lost in leve’s and friendship’s smile, 
Be memory of the lonely isle. 
*¢ But if beneath yon southern sky 
A plaided stranger roam, 
‘W hose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 
And sunken cheek and heayy eye, 
Pine for his highland home ; 
‘Then, warrior, then be thine to show 
The care that sooths a wanderer’s woe 3 
Remember then‘thy hapere while, _ 
A stranger in the lonely isle. 
_ Retrospect of Domestic Literature— Poetry. 
€¢ Or, if on life’s uncertain maing 
Mishap shall mar thy sail; 
If faithful, wise, and brave, in vain, 
Woe, want, and exile, thou sustain 
Beneath the fickle gale; 
Waste not asigh on fortune changed, 
Oa thankless courts, or friends estranged, 
But come where kindred worth shall smile, 
To greet thee in the lonely isle.’* 
The close of the last canto affords 
another specimen of genuine poetry: 
‘* Harp of the North, farewell! the hills 
grow dark, 
On purple peaks a deeper shade descend- 
ing 
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her 
spark, 
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert 
wending, 
Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain 
lending, 
And the wild breeze, thy wilder min- 
strelsy ; 
Thy numbcrs sweet with nature’s vespers 
blending, ' 
With distant echo from the fold and 
lea, ' 
And herd-boy’s evening pipe, and hum of 
housing bee. 
Yet once again, farewell, thou minstrel 
harp! 
Yet once again, forgive my feeble sway, 
And little reck I of the censure sharp, 
May idly cavil at anidile lay. 
Much have I owed thy strains on life’s long 
Wa Sy 
Through secret woes the world has never 
xnown, 
When on the weary night dawned wearier 
oe 
And bitterer was the grief devoured alone: 
That I o’erlive such. woes, enchantress! is 
thine own. 
Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 
Some spirit of the air has waked thy 
string! yt 
*Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 
>Tis now the brush of fairy’s frolic wing. 
Receding now, the dying numbers ring, © 
Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 
And now the mountain breezes scarcely 
bring Vee 
A wandering witch-note of the distant 
spell— 
And now, ’tis silent all!—Enchantress, fare 
thee well !” 
The notes at the end, though not very 
numerous, have interest; and illustrate 
not only Scottish manners but Scottish 
history. On the whole, however, though 
there is much to commend, we cannot 
say we think that the “Lady of the 
“Lake” is quite equal,-in poetical merit, 
either to the “‘ Lay of the last Minstre},” 
or “* Marmivun.” 
A poe 
5 
