VI.
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T were long to tell what steeds gave o'er,As swept the hunt through Cambusmore;What reins were tightened in despair,When rose Benledi's ridge in air;Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath,Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith,--For twice that day, from shore to shore,The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er.Few were the stragglers, following far,That reached the lake of Vennachar;And when the Brigg of Turk was won,The headmost horseman rode alone.
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