Walter Scott is out and away the king of the romantics. THE LADY OF THE LAKE has no indisputable claim to be a poem beyond the inherent fitness and desirability of the tale. It is just such a story as a man would make up for himself, walking, in the best health and temper, through just such scenes as it is laid in. Hence it is that a charm dwells undefinable among these slovenly verses, as the unseen cuckoo fills the mountains with his note; hence, even after we have flung the book aside, the scenery and adventures remain present to the mind, a new and green possession, not unworthy of that beautiful name, THE LADY OF THE LAKE, or that direct, romantic opening - one of the most spirited and poetical in literature - "The stag at eve had drunk his fill." The same strength and the same weakne
