HUNTING SONG

1808

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear! 5 Hounds are in their couples1 yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 10 The mist has left the mountain gray, Springlets in the dawn are steaming, Diamonds on the brake2 are gleaming: And foresters have busy been,

To track the buck in thicket green; 15 Now we come to chant our lay, "Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

Waken, lords and ladies gay,

To the greenwood haste away; We can show you where he lies, 20 Fleet of foot, and tall of size;

We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

25 Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we;

Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk, 30 Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk: Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay.

15

20

30

35

There thy rest shalt thou take, Parted forever,

Never again to wake,

Never, O never!

Chorus

Eleu loro, etc. Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,

He the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,
Ruin and leave her?
In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war's rattle

With groans of the dying.
Chorus

Eleu loro, etc. There shall he be lying.
Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the false-hearted:

His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
Ere life be parted.

Shame and dishonor sit

By his grave ever;
Blessing shall hallow it,-
Never, O never!

35 And

whispered,

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe2 the fair lady he

As chief, who hears his warder call, "To arms! the foemen storm the wall," 40 The antler'd monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste, But, ere his fleet career he took, The dew-drops from his flanks he shook; Like crested leader proud and high, 45 Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky; A moment gazed adown the dale, A moment snuff'd the tainted gale, A moment listen'd to the cry,

That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh; 50 Then, as the headmost foes appear'd, With one brave bound the copse he clear'd, And, stretching forward free and far, Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.

Yell'd on the view the opening pack; 55 Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back; To many a mingled sound at once The awaken'd mountain gave response. A hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong, Clatter'd a hundred steeds along,

60 Their peal the merry horns rung out, A hundred voices join'd the shout; With hark and whoop and wild halloo, No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. Far from the tumult fled the roe, 65 Close in her covert cower'd the doe; The falcon, from her cairn1 on high,

crag; peak (literally, a heap of stones)

Cast on the rout a wondering eye, Till far beyond her piercing ken The hurricane had swept the glen. 70 Faint and more faint, its failing din Return'd from cavern, cliff, and linn,1 And silence settled, wide and still, On the lone wood and mighty hill.

Less loud the sounds of silvan war 75 Disturb'd the heights of Uam-Var,

And roused the cavern, where, 'tis told,
A giant made his den of old;

For ere that steep ascent was won,
High in his pathway hung the sun,
80 And many a gallant, stay'd perforce,
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse,
And of the trackers of the deer,

Scarce half the lessening pack was near; So shrewdly2 on the mountain side 85 Had the bold burst their mettle tried.

The noble stag was pausing now
Upon the mountain's southern brow,
Where broad extended, far beneath,
The varied realms of fair Menteith.

90 With anxious eye he wander'd_o'er
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor,
And ponder'd refuge from his toil
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle.

But nearer was the copsewood gray,
95 That waved and wept on Loch-Achray,
And mingled with the pine-trees blue
On the bold cliffs of Benvenue.
Fresh vigor with the hope return'd,
With flying foot the heath he spurn'd,
100 Held westward with unwearied race,
And left behind the panting chase.

Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er,
As swept the hunt through Cambusmore:
What reins were tighten'd in despair,
105 When rose Benledi's ridge in air;

Who flagg'd upon Bochastle's heath, Who shunn'd to stem the flooded Teith,For twice that day, from shore to shore, The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 110 Few were the stragglers, following far,

That

reach'd the lake of Vennachar; And when the Brigg of Turk was won, The headmost horseman rode alone.

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 115 That horseman plied the scourge and steel; For jaded now, and spent with toil, Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soil, While every gasp with sobs he drew, The laboring stag strain 'd full in view.

120 Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,1 Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed, Fast on his flying traces came,

And all but won that desperate game;
For, scarce a spear's length from his
haunch,

125 Vindictive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch;
Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry2 strain.
Thus up the margin of the lake,
Between the precipice and brake,3

130 O'er stock and rock their race they take.

The hunter mark'd that mountain high,
The lone lake's western boundary,
And deem'd the stag must turn to bay,
Where that huge rampart barr'd the way;
135 Already glorying in the prize,

Measured his antlers with his eyes;
For the death-wound and death-halloo,
Muster'd his breath, his whinyard
drew;-

But thundering as he came prepared,
140 With ready arm and weapon bared,
The wily quarry shunn'd the shock,
And turn'd him from the opposing rock;
Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
145 In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook
His solitary refuge took.

There, while close couch 'd, the thicket shed Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head, He heard the baffled dogs in vain 150 Rave through the hollow pass amain, Chiding the rocks that yell'd again.

155

Close on the hounds the hunter came, To cheer them on the vanish'd game; But, stumbling in the rugged dell, The gallant horse exhausted fell. The impatient rider strove in vain To rouse him with the spur and rein, For the good steed, his labors o'er, Stretch'd his stiff limbs, to rise no more; 160 Then, touch'd with pity and remorse, He sorrow'd o'er the expiring horse: "I little thought, when first thy rein I slack'd upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle e'er should feed 165 On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed! Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant gray!"

55

That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh; Then, as the headmost foes appear'd, With one brave bound the copse he clear'd, And, stretching forward free and far, Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.

Yell'd on the view the opening pack;
Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awaken'd mountain gave response.
A hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong,
Clatter'd a hundred steeds along,

60 Their peal the merry horns rung out,
A hundred voices join'd the shout;
With hark and whoop and wild halloo,
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.
Far from the tumult fled the roe,
65 Close in her covert cower'd the doe;
The falcon, from her cairn1 on high,

1 crag; peak (literally, a heap of stones)