Chapter 20: XVIII

XVIII Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle, Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, Chequers the sunbeam in the greensward alley— Up and away!—for lovely paths are these To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne; Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. “Ettrick Forest” When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down s…