Scott's Lady of the Lake

by Walter Scott

Gain’d not the length of horseman’s lance

’Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain

Assistance from the hand to gain;

So tangled oft, that, bursting through,

Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew,—

That diamond dew, so pure and clear,

It rivals all but Beauty’s tear!

III.

At length they came where, stern and steep,