"Blithe were it then to wander here! But now,--beshrew yon nimble deer,-- Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, The copse must give my evening fare; Some mossy bank my couch must be, Some rustling oak my canopy. Yet pass we that; the war and chase Give little choice of resting place;-- A summer night, in greenwood spent, Were but to-morrow's merriment: But hosts may in these wilds abound, Such as are better miss'd than found; To meet with Highland plunderers here Were worse than loss of steed or deer.-- I am alone;--my bugle strain May call some straggler of the train; Or, fall[44] the worst that may betide, Ere now this falchion has been tried." [44] Happen; befall. XVII. 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 touch'd this silver strand, Just as the Hunter left his stand, And stood conceal'd 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 seem'd to stand, The guardian Naiad[45] of the strand. [45] (_Nā´yăd._) In classic mythology, one of the lower female deities who presided over lakes, streams, and fountains, as the Nymphs presided over mountains, forests, and meadows. XVIII. And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,[46] 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, 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 train'd her pace,-- A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath flower dash'd 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 list'ner held his breath to hear! [46] The Graces were in classic mythology three lovely sisters who attended Apollo and Venus. XIX.