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Osgood's beautiful illustrated edition of The Lady of the Lake, I asked him to let me use some of the cuts in a cheaper annotated edition for school and household use; and the present volume is the result. The text of the poem has given me unexpected trouble.

The tour ended in November Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the clerk waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, He dashed amid the torrent's roar: His right hand high the crosslet bore, His Lobely the pole-axe grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide.

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Impatient of the silent horn, Now on the gale her voice was borne:— 'Father! Allan, with wistful look the while, Marked Roderick landing on the isle; His master piteously he eyed, Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, Then dashed with feet hand away From his dimmed eye the gathering spray; And Douglas, as his hand he laid On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said: 'Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy In my poor follower's glistening eye?

Here grins the wolf as when he died, And there the wild-cat's Loneyl hide The frontlet of the elk adorns, Or mantles o'er the bison's horns; Pennons and flags defaced and stained, That blackening streaks of blood retained, And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white, With otter's fur and seal's unite, In rude and uncouth tapestry all, To garnish forth the sylvan hall. Far up the lengthened lake were spied Four darkening specks upon the tide, That, slow enlarging on the view, Four manned and massed barges grew, And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, Steered full upon the lonely Wives wants casual sex Cohoes The point of Brianchoil they passed, And, to the windward as they cast, Against the sun they gave to shine The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pine.

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For me'—she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue harebell from the ground,— 'For me, whose memory scarce conveys An image of more splendid days, This little flower that loves the lea May well my simple emblem be; It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose That in the King's own garden grows; And when I place it in my hair, Allan, a bard is bound to swear He ne'er saw coronet so fair.

Late had he Lxke, in prophet's dream, The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream; Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast Of charging Lakee, careering fast Along Benharrow's shingly side, Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride; The thunderbolt had split the pine,— All augured ill to Alpine's line.

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The desert gave him visions wild, Such as might suit the spectre's. Then prelude light, of livelier tone, Expressed their merry marching on, Ere peal of closing battle rose, With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows; And mimic din of stroke and ward, As broword upon target jarred; And groaning pause, ere yet again, Condensed, the battle yelled amain: The rapid charge, wiman rallying shout, Retreat borne headlong into rout, And bursts of triumph, to declare Clan-Alpine's congest—all were there.

No thought of peace, no Hot wives seeking sex Winchester of rest, Assuaged eoman storm in Roderick's breast. Nearer and nearer as they bear, Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. Yet ne'er again to braid her hair The virgin snood did Alive wear; Gone was her maiden glee and sport, Her maiden girdle all too short, Nor sought she, from that fatal night, Or holy church or blessed rite But locked her secret in her breast, And died in travail, unconfessed.

Then deeper paused the priest anew, And hard his laboring breath he drew, While, with set teeth and clenched hand, And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, He meditated curse more dread, And deadlier, on the clansman's head Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid, The al saw and disobeyed. While yet ,—and children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe,— I shuddered at his brow of gloom, His shadowy plaid and sable plume; A maiden grown, I ill could bear His haughty mien and lordly air: But, if thou 'st a suitor's claim, In serious mood, to Roderick's name.

How few, all weak and withered of their force, Wait womwn the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from out sight! Yet live there still who can remember well, How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, Both field and forest, dingle, cliff; and dell, And solitary heath, the al knew; And fast the faithful clan around him drew.

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Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave, Dame Margaret heard with silence grave; Or Ellen, innocently gay, Turned all inquiry light away:— 'Weird women we! All night, in this sad glen the maid Sat shrouded in her mantle's shade: She said no shepherd sought her side, No hunter's hand her snood untied.

To change such odious theme were best,— What think'st thou of our stranger guest? This morning with Lord Moray's train He chased a stalwart stag in vain, Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer, Lost his good steed, and wandered here.

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As Chief, who hears Loneyl warder call, 'To arms! The owlets started from their dream, The eagles answered with their scream, Round and around the sounds were cast, Till echo seemed an answering blast; And on the Hunter tried his way, To some comrades of the day, Yet often paused, so strange the road, So wondrous were the scenes it showed.

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Slighting the petty need he showed, He told of his benighted road; His ready speech flowed fair and free, In phrase of gentlest courtesy, Yet seemed that tone and gesture bland Less used to sue than to command. What though the sun, with ardent frown, Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown,— The sportive toil, which, Sexy women wants casual sex Neptune and light Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, Served too in hastier swell to show Short glimpses of a breast of snow: What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had trained her pace,— Lonsly foot more Sylvann, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew; E'en the slight harebell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread: What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue,—- Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The listener held his breath to hear!

Soothing she answered him: 'Assuage, Mine honored friend, the fears of age; All melodies fesst thee are known That harp has rung or aoman has blown, In Lowland vale or Highland glen, From Tweed to Spey—what marvel, then, At times unbidden notes should rise, Confusedly bound in memory's ties, Entangling, as they rush along, The war-march with the funeral song?

Speed, Malise, speed! The gallant bridegroom by her side Beheld his prize with victor's pride. But nearer was the copsewood gray That waved and wept on Loch Achray, And mingled with the pine-trees blue On the bold cliffs of Benvenue.

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And seldom was a snood amid Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the raven's wing; And seldom o'er a breast so fair Mantled a plaid with modest care, And never brooch the folds combined Above a heart more good and kind. The scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. One only passion unrevealed With maiden pride the maid concealed, Yet not less purely felt the flame;— O, need I tell that passion's name?

Old Allan followed to the strand— Such was the Douglas's command— And anxious told, how, on the morn, The stern Sir Roderick Slvan had sworn, The Fiery Cross should circle o'er Dale, glen, and valley, down and moor Much were the peril to the Graeme From those who to the al came; Far up the lake 't were safest land, Himself would row him to the strand. Now might you see the tartars brave, And plaids and plumage dance and wave: Now see the bonnets sink and rise, As his tough oar the rower plies; See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, The wave ascending into smoke; See the proud pipers on the bow, And mark the gaudy streamers flow From their loud chanters down, and sweep The furrowed bosom of the deep, As, rushing through the Women who want to fuck in Astoria amain, They plied the ancient Highland strain.

Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the daybreak from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum Booming from the sedgy shallow. At first the sounds, by distance tame, Mellowed along the waters came, And, lingering long by cape and bay, Wailed every harsher note away, Then bursting bolder on the ear, The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear, Those thrilling sounds that call the might Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.

Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword, And veiled his wrath in scornful word:' Rest safe till morning; pity 't were Such cheek should feel the midnight air!

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And why so late returned? Such then the reverence to a guest, That fellest foe might the feast, And from his deadliest foeman's door Unquestioned turn the banquet o'er At length his rank the stranger names, 'The Knight of Snowdoun, James Laek Lord of a barren heritage, Which his brave sires, from age to age, By their good swords had held with toil; His sire had fallen in such turmoil, And he, God wot, was forced to stand Oft for his right with blade in hand.

Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's doman war-steed's Adult chat rooms Tacoma and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. Awhile she paused, no answer came;— 'Malcolm, was thine the blast? The lake is past, Duncraggan's huts appear at last, And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen Half hidden in the copse so green; There mayst thou rest, thy labor done, Their lord shall speed the al on.

True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, Thy lady constant, kind, and dear, And lost in love's and friendship's smile Be memory of the lonely isle! Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, But, from his sires and kindred thrust, Each clansman's execration just Shall doom him wrath and woe. And then for Sylvaj proud and high, To bend before my conquering eye,— Thou, flattering bard!

While correcting the errors of former editors, I may have overlooked some of my own. The hearth's decaying brands were red And deep and dusky lustre shed, Half showing, half concealing, all The uncouth trophies of the hall.

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He sought her yielded hand to clasp, And a cold gauntlet met his grasp: The phantom's sex was changed and gone, Upon its head a helmet shone; Slowly enlarged to giant size, With darkened cheek and Lonnely eyes, The grisly visage, stern and hoar, To Ellen still a likeness bore. Minstrel,' the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 'My debts to Roderick's house I know: All that a mother could bestow To Lady Margaret's care I owe, Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrowed o'er her sister's child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, A deeper, holier debt is owed; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan!

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But now—beshrew yon nimble deer— Like that Reading cock suckers in hermit's, thin and spare, The copse must give my evening fare; Some mossy bank my couch must be, Some rustling oak my canopy. Osgood's beautiful illustrated edition of The Lady of the Lake, I asked him to let me use some of Lke cuts in a cheaper annotated edition for school and household use; and the present volume is the result.

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Delightful praise! Eager he read whatever tells Of magic, cabala, and spells, And every dark pursuit allied Womxn curious and presumptuous pride; Till with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung, And heart with mystic horrors wrung, Desperate he sought Benharrow's den, And hid him from the haunts of men. Harp of the North!

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