Scott's Lady of the Lake

by Walter Scott

Alas, thou lovely lake! that e’er

Thy banks should echo sounds of fear!

The rocks, the bosky[194] thickets, sleep

So stilly on thy bosom deep,

The lark’s blithe carol, from the cloud,

Seems for the scene too gayly loud.

XV.

Speed, Malise, speed! The lake is past,

Duncraggan’s[195] huts appear at last,

And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen,