Xix

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire; It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; The tear that gathered in his eye He left the mountain breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable strath with green, The chapel of St. Bride was seen. Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the dark waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, He dashed amid the torrent's roar. His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-ax grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide. He stumbled twice--the foam splashed high; With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen--forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, Until the opposing bank he gained, And up the chapel pathway strained.