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And, since these adverse breezes blow,
And strike a mountain deer ?
A shaft shall mend our cheer."-
And left their skiff and train, Where a wild stream, with headlong shock, Came brawling down its bed of rock,
To mingle with the main.
As men who stalk for mountain-deer, Till the good Bruce to Ronald said,
“ St Mary! what a scene is here !
I've traversed many a mountain-strand,
Thus, many a waste I've wanderd o'er,
But, by my halidome,
Where'er I happ'd to roam.”.
No marvel thus the Monarch spake ;
For rarely human eye has known A scene so stern as that dread lake,
With its dark ledge of barren stone. Seems that primeval earthquake's sway Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way
Through the rude bosom of the hill,
And that each naked precipice,
Tells of the outrage still.
And copse on Cruchan-Ben;
On mountain or in glen,
The weary eye may ken.
As if were here denied
The bleakest mountain-side.
And wilder, forward as they wound,
For from the mountain hoar,
Loose crags had toppled o'er ;
A mass no host could raise,
On its precarious base.
Now left their foreheads bare,
And round the skirts their mantle furl'd,
Dispersed in middle air.
Pours like a torrent down,
Leap from the mountain's crown.
“ This lake," said Bruce," whose barriers drear Are precipices sharp and sheer, Yielding no track for goat or deer,
Save the black shelves we tread, How term you its dark waves ? and how Yon northern mountain's pathless brow,
And yonder peak of dread,