Xvii

Ever, as on they bore, more loud And louder rung the pibroch proud. At first the sound, by distance tame, Mellowed along the waters came, And, lingering long by cape and bay, Wailed every harsher note away, 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 outcry, shrieks, and blows; And mimic din of stroke and ward, As broad sword upon target jarred; And groaning pause, ere yet again, Condensed, the battle yelled amain; The rapid charge, the rallying shout, Retreat borne headlong into rout, And bursts of triumph, to declare Clan-Alpine's conquest--all were there. Nor ended thus the strain; but slow Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, And changed the conquering clarion swell, For wild lament o'er those that fell.