Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past,
Duncraggan's huts appear at last,note
350 And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen,
Half hidden in the copse so green;
There mayst thou rest, thy labor done,
Their Lord shall speed the signal on.
As stoops the hawk upon his prey,
355 The henchman shot him down the way.
-What woeful a
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