thay eit nocht of the herbis that wer twichit or handillit by men. Thir bullis wer sa wild, that thay wer nevir tane but slight and crafty laubour, and sa impacient that, eftir thair taking, they deit for importable doloure. Alse sone as ony man invadit thir bullis they ruschit with so terrible preis on him, that they dang him to the eird, takand na feir of houndis, scharp lancis, nor uthir maist penitrive wapinnis. … And thoucht thir bullis wer bred in sindry boundis of the Calidon Wod, now, be contiwal hunting and lust of insolent men, thay are distroyit in all partis of Scotland, and nane of thaim left but allanerlie in Cumarnald."
Nor can it be denied that the impression made by Boece was deepened by Sir Walter Scott—
"Through the huge oaks of Evandale,[1]
Whose limbs a thousand years have worn,
What sullen roar comes down the gale.
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn?
"Mightiest of all the beasts of chase.
That roam in woody Caledon,
Crashing the forest in his race,
The Mountain Bull comes thundering on.
"Fierce on the hunter's quiver'd band,
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow,
Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand,
And tosses high his mane of snow.
"Aim'd well, the Chieftain's lance has flown,
Struggling in blood the savage lies;
His roar is sunk in hollow groan—
Sound, merry huntsmen! sound the pryse."
- ↑ Ballad of Cadzow Castle.
