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And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, Half hidden in the copse so green;

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There mayst thou rest, thy labor done,
Their lord shall speed the signal on.
As stoops the hawk upon his prey,
The henchman shot him down the way. -
What woeful accents load the gale?
The funeral yell, the female wail!
A gallant hunter's sport is o'er,
A valiant warrior fights no more.
Who, in the battle or the chase,
At Roderick's side shall fill his place?—
Within the hall, where torch's ray
Supplies the excluded beams of day,
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier,

And o'er him streams his widow's tear.
His stripling son stands mournful by,
His youngest weeps, but knows not why;
The village maids and matrons round
The dismal coronach resound.



He is gone on the mountain,

He is lost to the forest,

Like a summer-dried fountain,

When our need was the sorest.

The font, reappearing,

From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no morrow!

The hand of the reaper

Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest.

Fleet foot on the correi,
Sage counsel in cumber,

Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,

Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever!


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 besmear'd with blood:

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‘The muster-place is Lanrick mead';

Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"


Angus, the heir of Duncan's line,
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign.
In haste the stripling to his side
His father's dirk and broadsword tied:
But when he saw his mother's eye
Watch him in speechless agony,
Back to her open'd arms he flew,
Press'd on her lips a fond adieu,
"Alas!" she sobb'd, "and yet be gone,

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And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!” One look he cast upon the bier,

Dash'd from his eye the gathering tear, Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast, And toss'd aloft his bonnet crest,

Then, like the high-bred colt when, freed,
First he essays his fire and speed,

He vanish'd, and o'er moor and moss
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross.
Suspended was the widow's tear

While yet his footsteps she could hear;
And when she mark'd the henchman's eye
Wet with unwonted sympathy,

"Kinsman," she said, "his race is run
That should have sped thine errand on;
The oak has fall'n, — the sapling bough
Is all Duncraggan's shelter now.

Yet trust I well, his duty done,
The orphan's God will guard my son.
you, in many a danger true,

At Duncan's hest your blades that drew,
To arms, and guard that orphan's head!
Let babes and women wail the dead.".
Then weapon-clang and martial call
Resounded through the funeral hall,
While from the walls the attendant band
Snatch'd sword and targe with hurried hand;
And short and flitting energy

Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye,

As if the sounds to warrior dear

Might rouse her Duncan from his bier.

But faded soon that borrow'd force;

Grief claim'd his right, and tears their course.


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 gather'd 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 Saint Bride was seen.
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge,
But Angus paused not on the edge;
Though the dark waves danced dizzily,
Though reel'd his sympathetic eye,
He dash'd amid the torrent's roar :
His right hand high the crosslet bore,
His left the pole-axe grasp'd, to guide
And stay his footing in the tide.

He stumbled twice, the foam splash'd high,

With hoarser swell the stream raced by;
And had he fall'n, - forever there,
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir!
But still, as if in parting life
Firmer he grasp'd the Cross of strife,
Until the opposing bank he gain'd,
And up the chapel pathway strain'd.

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