's titles, Hari,
the High One. It was the legend of the Wild Huntsman that inspired Sir
Walter Scott to write one of his finest ballads of the mysterious. An
Edinburgh friend had perused a ballad by Burger, entitled Lenore, but
all he could remember of it were the following four lines: Tramp, tramp,
across the land they ride; Splash, splash, across the sea. Hurrah! the
dead can ride apace, Dost fear to ride with me?

This verse fired Scott's imagination. He liked this sort of thing, and
could do it very well himself. So on reaching home he sat down to
the composition of the following ballad, of which we give the most
outstanding verses:

THE WILD HUNTSMAN

The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn:
To horse, to horse, haloo, haloo!
His fiery courser sniffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed,
Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake
While answering hound, and horn, and steed,
The mountain echoes startling wake.

The beams of God's own hallowed day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling sinful men to pray,
Loud, long, and deep the bell hath tolled.

But still the Wildgrave onward rides;
Haloo, haloo, and hark again!
When, spurring from opposing sides,
Two stranger horsemen join the train.

Who was each stranger, left and right?
Well may I guess, but dare not tell.
The right-hand steed was silver-white;
The left, the swarthy hue of hell.

The right-hand horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May;
The left, from eye of tawny glare,
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.

He waved his huntsman's cap on high,
Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord!
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,
To match the princely chase, afford?"

"Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,"
Cried the fair youth with silver voice;
"And for devotion's choral swell,
Exchange the rude, unhallowed noise.

"To-day th' ill-omened chase forbear;
Yon bell yet summons to the fane:
To-day the warning spirit hear,
To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain."

The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed
And, launching forward with a bound,
"Who for thy drowsy priestlike rede
Would leave the jovial horn and hound?

"Hence, if our manly sport offend:
With pious fools go c