ΤΟ THE REV. JOHN MARRIOT, M. A. Ashestiel, Ettricke Forrest. THE scenes are desart now, and bare, Where flourish'd once a forest fair, When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind. Yon Thorn-perchance whose prickly spears Have fenced him for three hundred years, While fell around his green compeers― The changes of his parent dell, Since he, so grey and stubborn now, With narrow leaves, and berries red; What pines on every mountain sprung, O'er every dell what birches hung, In every breeze what aspens shook, What alders shaded every brook! "Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, "The mighty stag at noon-tide lay: "The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, "(The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) "With lurching step around me prowl, "And stop against the moon to howl; * Mountain-ash. "The mountain-boar, on battle set, "His tusks upon my stem would whet; "While doe and roe, and red-deer good, "Have bounded by through gay green-wood. "Then oft, from Newark's riven tower, "Sallied a Scottish monarch's power: "A thousand vassals muster'd round, "With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound; "And I might see the youth intent, "Guard every pass with cross-bow bent; "And through the brake the rangers stalk, "And falc'ners hold the ready hawk; "And foresters, in green-wood trim, "Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim, "Attentive, as the bratchet's* bay "From the dark covert drove the prey, "To slip them as he broke away. "The startled quarry bounds amain, "As fast the gallant grey-hounds strain; * Slow-hound. |