II.
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,
Love prompted to the bridegroom’s tongue,
All while he stripp’d the wild-rose spray.
His ax 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 return’d 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 hied 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 call’d a slumberer by his side,
And stirr’d him with his slacken’d bow—
“Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho!
We seek the Chieftain; on the track,
Keep eagle watch till I come back.”