LADY OF THE LAKE.

This beautiful tale is a more universal favourite than any of Sir Walter Scott's. It is exquisitively descriptive, and so peculiarly fascinating, that a person who takes it up for the first time is seldom known to leave it till the whole is read. The first Canto of the Lady of the Lake describes a chase. Hunting is an occupation necessary to the savage state, and in civilized countries opulent men of leisure love to excite their spirits by the sports of the field. To hunt the boar, the stag, and the fox, besides other animals, in many countries is considered by active and adventurous persons as among the most animating pleasures of life.

The Chase in the Lady of the Lake describes a hunt of the King of Scotland, which ended in the loss of the game, and the death of King James's fine horse. After the loss of his horse, the King expects to sleep in the open air; but the state of the country made it dangerous, and he wandered in quest of a safe place, until he came full in view of Loch Katrine, a beautifully wooded lake embosomed in profound solitude. In the lake lie several islands—one of them is the retreat of an outlaw, Roderick Dhu, and also the asylum of Lord Douglas and his daughter Ellen. Lord Douglas was under the displeasure. of the King, and had taken refuge with his kinsman. In hope to summon some straggler of his train, the King sounds his bugle; it was heard by Ellen Douglas, who was navigating her fairy frigate on the lake, —and believing, she replied to her father or to Malcolm Græme a welcome visitor to her retreat, she answers the stranger, who soon explains his circumstances. Ellen in the generous confidence and hospitality of that age, takes him into the shallop. He rows to the island, and is made welcome to the rustic habitation of Dame Margaret, the lady of Clan Alpine, and the mother of Roderick. The Douglas and the Chieftain are both absent, and the stranger Knight announces himself in the character of James Fitz-James, (Fitz-James, son of James.) The next morning the Knight leaves the island under safe conduct.

THE CHASE.

"The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
When danced the moon on Monan's rill,
And deep his midnight lair had made
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade;

But, when the sun his beacon red
Had kindled on Benvoirlick'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.

As chief who hears his warder call,

To arms! the foemen storm the wall,'—
The antlered monarch of the waste

Sprung from his heathery couch in haste.
But, ere his fleet career he took,

The dew-drops from his flank he shook;
Like crested leader proud and high,
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky;
A moment gazed adown the dale,
A moment snuffed the tainted gale,
A moment listened to the cry,

That thickened as the chase.drew nigh;
Then, as the headmost foes appeared,
With one brave bound the copse he cleared,
And stretching forward free and far,
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.

Yelled on the view the opening pack,
Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awakened mountains gave response.
An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong,
Clattered an hundred steeds along,
Their peal the merry horns rung out;
An hundred- voices joined the shout;
With hark, and whoop, and wild halloo
No rest Benvoirlich's echo knew.
Far from the tumult fled the roe,
Close in the covert cowered the doe.
The falcon, from her earn on high,
Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
Till far beyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.
Faint, and more faint, its falling din
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,
And silence settled wide and still,
On the lone wood and mighty bill.

Less loud the sounds of sylvan war
Disturbed 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 path-way hung the sun,
And many a gallant, stayed per-force,
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse;
And of the trackers of the deer;

Scarce half the lessening pack was near;
So shrewdly on the mountain side,
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 Monteith.
With anxious eye he wandered o'er
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor,
And pondered refuge from his toil,
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle.
But nearer was the copse-wood gray,
That waved and wept on Loch Achray,
And mingled with the pine trees blue,
On the bold cliffs of Ben-venue
Fresh vigor with the hope returned,
With flying foot the heath he spurned,
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 Cambus-more;
What reins were tightened in despair,
When rose Benledi's ridge in air;
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath,
Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith.--
For twice, that day from shore to shore,
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er.
Few were the stragglers, following far,
That reached the lake of Vennachar :
And when the Brigg of Turk was won,
The headmost horseman rode alone.

Alone, but with unbated zeal,

That horseman plied the scourge and steel:

For, jaded now, and spent with toil,
Embossed with foam and dark with soil,
While every gasp with sobs he drew,
The labouring stag strained full in view.
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,
Unmatched 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,
Vindictive toiled the blood-hounds stanch;
Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry strain.
Thus up the margin of the lake,
Between the precipice and brake
O'er stock and rock their race they take.
The hunter marked that mountain high,
The lone lake's western boundary,
And deemed the stag must turn to bay,
Where that huge rampart barred the way;
Already glorying in the prize,

Measured his antlers with his eyes;
For the death-wound and death halloo,
Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew.
But thundering as he came prepared,
With ready arm and weapon bared,
The wily quarry shunned the shock,
And turned him from the opposing rock;
Then, dashing down a darksome glen,
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,
In the deep Trosach's wildest nook
His solitary refuge took.

There while, close couched, the thicket shed
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head,

He heard the baffled dogs in vain

Rave through the hollow pass amain,
Chiding the rocks that yelled again.

Close on the hounds the hunter came,
To cheer them on the vanished 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 labours o'er,

Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more ;
Then touched with pity and remorse,
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse.
'I little thought when first thy rein
I slacked upon the banks of Seine,
That highland eagle e'er should feed
On thy fleet limbs, my gallant steed!
Wo worth the chase, wo worth the day,
That cost thy life, my gallant gray!'"

"But scarce again his horn he wound,
When lo! forth starting at the sound,
From underneath an aged oak,
That slanted from the islet rock,
A damsel, guider of its way,
A little skiff shot to the bay,
That round the promontory steep,
Led its deep line in graceful sweep,
Eddying in almost viewless wave,
The weeping willow twig to lave,
And kiss with whispering sound and slow,
The beach of pebbles bright as snow.
The boat had touched the silver strand,

Just as the hunter left his stand,

And stood concealed amid the brake,
To view this Lady of the lake.
The maiden paused, as if again
She thought to catch the distant strain,
With head upraised, and look intent,
And eye and ear attentive bent,
And locks flung back, and lips apart
Like monument of Grecian art.
In listening mood she seemed to stand,
The guardian Naiad of the strand.

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a grace,
Of finer form, or lovelier face!
What though the sun with ardent frown,
Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown,—
The sportive toil, which, short and light,
Had dyed her glowing hue so bright,