The Lady of the Lake · Walter Scott
Chapter 25
Chapter 126 of 192 · 1 min read
'The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,— Ever sing merrily, merrily; The bows they bend, and the knives they whet, Hunters live so cheerily.
It was a stag, a stag of ten, Bearing its branches sturdily; He came stately down the glen,— Ever sing hardily, hardily.
'It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully; She warned him of the toils below, O. so faithfully, faithfully!
'He had an eye, and he could heed,— Ever sing warily, warily; He had a foot, and he could speed,— Hunters watch so narrowly.'
