Her lodge is in the valley--here No huntsman, void of notion, Should hurry on the fallow deer, But steal on her with caution;-- With wary step and watchfulness To stalk her to her resting place, Insures the gallant wight's success, Before she is in motion. The hunter bold should follow then, By bog, and rock, and hollow, then, And nestle in the gulley, then, And watch with deep devotion The shadows on the benty grass, And how they come, and how they pass; Nor must he stir, with gesture rash, To quicken her emotion. With nerve and eye so wary, sir, That straight his piece may carry, sir, He marks with care the quarry, sir, The muzzle to repose on; And now, the knuckle is applied, The flint is struck, the priming tried, Is fired, the volley has replied, And reeks in high commotion;-- Was better powder ne'er to flint, Nor trustier wadding of the lint-- And so we strike a telling dint, Well done, my own Nic-Coisean![123] [109] Anglicised into _Ben_. [110] The deer. [111] Stag of the first head. [112] Pass. [113] Any one who has heard a native attempt the Lowland tongue for the first time, is familiar with the personification that turns every inanimate object into _he_ or _she_. The forest is here happily personified as a nurse or mother. [114] Bog-holes. [115] Stripings. [116] _Gaelic_--Easan-an-tsith. [117] Primrose. [118] St John's wort. [119] A kind of cress, or marshmallow. [120] _Anglice_--dark. [121] _Gaelic_--Caoillt; who, with Cuchullin, makes a figure in traditional Gaelic poetry. [122] _Gaelic_--King George. [123] Literally--"From the barrel of Nic-Coisean." This was the poet's favourite gun, to which his muse has addressed a separate song of considerable merit. THE BARD TO HIS MUSKET.[124]