“Here Walter Scott has wooed the Northern Muse,
Here he with me has joyed to walk or cruize;
And hence has pricked through Ytene’s holt, where we
Have called to mind how under greenwood tree,
Pierced by the partner of his ‘woodland craft,’
King Rufus fell by Tiril’s random shaft.
Hence have we ranged by Keltic camps and barrows,
Or climbed the expectant bark, to thread the Narrows
Of Hurst, bound westward to the gloomy bower
Where Charles was prisoned in yon island tower.