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Woe, to the living thing, whose path
Shall cross the savage in his wrath'
Behold! as on with rushing bound,

O'er rock and brake he flies.
Reclining on th' unequal ground

The ambusli'd hunter lies;
One lurid glance—he darts away.
With headlong haste, to seize his prey.
Swiftly the hunter starts erect,

And grasps his ready spear:
The haffled lion's speed is cbeck'd;

His i age is mix'd with fear:
With sullen howl he crouches low,
Watching aloof his daring foe.
Wary, and bold, the hardy wight

In doubt and silence stands,
Weighing his gaunt opponent's might

Against his single brand;
Speed thee!—less fearful of thy eye,
The rav'ning monster draws more nigh.
He shouts! the good spear speeds amain;

The shout is echo'd hack
Through the greenwood, the hunter train

Have trae'd the lion's track!
Timely, indeed, the aid they bring;
His form was bent, in act to spring.
Smarting wich pain, and red with gore,

Backward his course he turns;
The fearless hunters urge him sore,

Bach heart at danger spurns;
Gath'ring around, they bar his way,
The forest monarch stands at hay!
From ev'ry side the shafts fly fast;

Yet, terrible and grim
He bounds, and foams ;—with pain, at last,

His bursting eyes grow dim:
In one loud roar he spends his breath.
Once struggling, starts—and sinks in death.


Bisogna di valor segni piu diiari,

Che por Cod leggiadru la lancia in resla.

Wm lament that the days of Old Romance

Should pass like a dream away,
When a Spright, a Knight, and his trusty lance,

Were themes for a sprightly lay!
Rude were the times when they swore by the Rood,

And the Knight was all day on his courser;
'Twould puzzle a Saint to have understood

Which of the two was the coarser!
He must ever have been on the rack, I ween.

For he lived in constant danger;
On the rack, his lance and targe should have been

And the steed rach'd up by the manger!
The lance had its rest when the Knight had none,

This Tasso himself has vouched,
For he press'd no bed when the fight was done,

Yet the other was often couched!
And the shepherd's life was just as tame,—

Under an old yew's shade,
He play'd his pipe beside his flamt,

While the lambs, near the old ewes play'd!
His name, on the hark of a beech he'd leave,— ^

But that might a moral teach,
For a lover,—alas! will oft deceive,

As the bark will have the beach!
Or Pilgrim, kneeling by holy mount,

I would not resemble him;
For the only beads I desire to count,

Are those on my goblet's brim!
Though still—his life was safer by half

Than the Soldier's, in war's alarms:
He had always support from a trusty staff,

Wben he wanted to carry alms!
To the host of Knights, and the * Painim War,'

Farewell! We suffer no loss;
Our champion's a jollier host by far,

And 'twould pain him to hear of a cross!

E. L. I.

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Published Jan 1, 1829, by James Robins & Co Ivy Lane London


Oil sorrowful conclusion to our hopes,
So ends a dream of promise.

Duke of Merci/t.' Tue curious traveller who intends visiting the Hifhrands should approach those desolate regions from the neighbourhood of the Scottish metropolis. The scenery is peculiarly grand, and it loses none of its interest by the romantic associations which are connected with it; every spot has its history of wild tumult and hostile disorder; and, now and then, the peasant, if interrogated, will point out places identified with incidents of a more domestic but not less curious nature.

Within the shadow of the first range of the hills which indicate the Highlands a secluded valley is generally shown to strangers. The access to it is somewhat difficult; but the beauty of the place amply repays for the inconvenience which the visiter has to encounter before he enters it. A solemn silence reigns throughout the dell, and the shadow of the neighbouring mountain serves to increase that gloom inseparable from a spot where the silence of nature is seldom disturbed by the bustle and noise of living beings; A stream runs through this retired spot, and just where the trees have attained the greatest density of foliage, the water has spread itself into a miniature lake which, in varying, adds to the beauty of the scene. It is exactly such a spot as the ancient Germans would have appropriated to their gods: the visla, formed by the opening occasioned by the lake and rivulet, casts a kind of Gothic holiness about the place; and those who are unacquainted with the workings of human passion would naturally suppose that, of all places on earth, this would be the last where a deed of darkness could be perpetrated.

In the latter partof the last century, a solitary female was observed, by the neighbouring rustics, to pay a daily visit to this sequestered spot. The place had recently acquired a superstitious notoriety: a year or two before, in the decline of a summer's evening, a

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