XXX.
Died on the harp the closing hymn.—
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As list’ning still, Clan-Alpine’s lord
Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until the page, with humble sign,
Twice pointed to the sun’s decline.
Then while his plaid he round him cast,
“It is the last time—’tis the last,”
He mutter’d thrice,—“the last time e’er
That angel voice shall Roderick hear!”
It was a goading thought—his stride
Hied hastier down the mountain side;
Sullen he flung him in the boat,
And instant ’cross the lake it shot.
They landed in that silvery bay,
And eastward held their hasty way,
Till, with the latest beams of light,
The band arrived on Lanrick height,
Where muster’d, in the vale below,
Clan-Alpine’s men in martial show.