His flaxen hair, of sunny hue,
Curl’d closely round his bonnet blue.
Train’d to the chase, his eagle eye
The ptarmigan in snow could spy:
Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath,
He knew, through Lennox and Menteith;
Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe
When Malcolm bent his sounding bow;
And scarce that doe, though wing’d with fear,
Outstripp’d in speed the mountaineer: