File:The Lady of the lake, a poem in six cantos (1883) (14764120695).jpg

Identifier: ladyoflakepoein00scot (find matches)
Title: The Lady of the lake, a poem in six cantos
Year: 1883 (1880s)
Authors: Scott, Walter, Sir, 1771-1832
Subjects: Lady of the Lake (Legendary character)
Publisher: New York, T. Y. Crowell & co
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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ho from the fold and lea,And herd-boys evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. 1 . . . And now, waiving myself, let me talk to you of thePrince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at a ball;and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to myown attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities; hepreferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which ofyour works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered,I thought the Lay. He said his own opinion was nearly similar.In speaking of the others, I told him that I thought you more particu-larly the poet of Pritices, as tJiey never appeared more fascinatingthan in Marmion, and the Lady of the Lake. He was pleasedto coincide, and to dwell on the description of your Jamess as noless royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and your-self, and seemed well acquainted with both, &c.—Letter fromLord Byro7i to Sir Walter Scott, July 6, 1812. Byrons Life atidWorks, vol. ii., p. 156.
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His chain of gold the King unstrung,The links oer Malcolme neck he flung. — Page 274. Canto VI.) THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 275 Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp! Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway.And little reck I of the censure sharp May idly cavil at an idle lay.Much have I owed thy strains on lifes long way, Through secret woes the world has never known,When on the weary night dawnd wearier day. And bitterer was the grief devourd alone.That I oerlive such woes, Enchantress ! is thine own. Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire. Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string!Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, Tis now the brush of Fairys frolic wing.Receding now, the dying numbers ring Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell,And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spell —And now, tis silent all! — Enchantress, fare thee well! On a comparison of the merits of this poem with the two former k productions of the sa

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