XV.. "What think I of him?-woe the while That brought such wanderer to our işle ! For Tine-man forged by fairy lore, The footstep of a secret foe. If courtly spy, and harboured here, What yet may jealous Roderick say? Bethink thee of the discord dread, That kindled when at Beltane game Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Græme; Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, Beware!-But hark, what sounds are these? No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, Sends the bold pibroch from afar."— XVI. Far up the lengthened lake were spied Four manned and masted barges grew, * Cotton-grass. E The point of Brianchoil they passed, And, to the windward as they cast, Against the sun they gave to shine The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pine. Nearer and nearer as they bear, Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. Now might you see the tartans brave, And plaids and plumage dance and wave; Now see the bonnets sink and rise, As his tough oar the rower plies; See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, The wave ascending into smoke; See the proud pipers on the bow, And mark the gaudy streamers flow From their loud chanters* down, and sweep The furrowed bosom of the deep, As, rushing through the lake amain, They plied the ancient highland strain. *The drone of the bag-pipe. XVII. Ever, as on they bore, more loud Then bursting bolder on the ear, The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear; Those thrilling sounds, that call the might Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. Thick beat the rapid notes, as when The mustering hundreds shake the glen, And, hurrying at the signal dread, The battered earth returns their tread. Then prelude light, of livelier tone, Expressed their merry marching on, Ere peal of closing battle rose, With mingled out-cry, shrieks, and blows; And mimic din of stroke and ward, As broad-sword upon target jarred ; For wild lament o'er those that fell. XVIII. The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill Were busy with their echoes still; And, when they slept, a vocal strain Bade their hoarse chorus wake again, |