'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.
