Xvii

See Stumah, who, the bier beside, His master's corpse with wonder eyed-- Poor Stumah! whom his least halloo Could send like lightning o'er the dew, Bristles his crest, and points his ears, As if some stranger step he hears. 'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, But headlong haste, or deadly fear, Urge the precipitate career. All stand aghast--unheeding all, The henchman bursts into the hall; Before the dead man's bier he stood; Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood: "The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"