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 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! THE I. HE Stag at eve had drunk his fill, But, when the sun his beacon red Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, The deep-mouthed blood-hound's heavy bay Resounded up the rocky way, And faint, from farther distance borne, Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. II. . As chief who hears his warder call, "To arms! the foemen storm the wall,” |