INCH-CAILLIACH.

...G. F. ROBSON.

Rods of yew,

Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave.- Page 76.

DUNFERMLINE...

Merry it is in good greenwood

.G. CATTERMOLE.

When the mavis and merle are singing,
But merrier were they in Dumferline grey,
When all the bells were ringing.-Page 116.

DOUNE CASTLE..

.J. D. HARDING.

Their pennons will abroad be flung,

Which else in Doune had peaceful hung.-Page 138.

STIRLING CASTLE.....

....G. F. ROBSON.

The bulwark of the North,

Grey Stirling, with her towers and town,

Upon their fleet career look'd down.-Page 153.

BEN VENUE..

.G. F. ROBSON.

The minstrel came once more to view
The eastern ridge of Ben venue.-Page 185.

JAMES V

.S. A. HART.

'Tis under name which veils my power,
Nor falsely veils-for Stirling's tower
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,

And Normans call me James Fitz-James.-Page 202.

ARGUMENT.

The Scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch-Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The Time of Action

includes Six Days, and the transactions of each day occupy a Canto.

THE

LADY OF THE LAKE.

Canto first.-The Chase.

HARP of the North! that mouldering long hast

hung

On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's

spring,

And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,
Till envious ivy did around thee cling,
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,—

O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring,

Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep?

Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon,

Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. At each according pause was heard aloud

Thine ardent symphony, sublime and high! Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd; For still the burthen of thy minstrelsy

Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's matchless eye.

O wake once more! how rude soe'er the hand
That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray;
O wake once more! though scarce my skill
command

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay:
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away,
And all unworthy of thy nobler strain,

Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway,

The wizard note has not been touched in vain.

Then silent be no more! Enchantress, wake again,