Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.

All while he stripped the wild-rose spray, His axe and bow beside him lay, For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood A wakeful sentinel he stood.

Hark!--on the rock a footstep rung, And instant to his arms he sprung.

'Stand, or thou diest!--What, Malise?--soon Art thou returned from Braes of Doune.

By thy keen step and glance I know, Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe.'--For while the Fiery Cross tried on, On distant scout had Malise gone.--'Where sleeps the Chief?' the henchman said.

'Apart, in yonder misty glade;

To his lone couch I'll be your guide.'--

Then called a slumberer by his side, And stirred him with his slackened bow,--'Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho!

We seek the Chieftain; on the track Keep eagle watch till I come back.'