Deem'st thou that no honour liveth
Save in haughty breasts like thine?
Think'st thou men, like dogs in spirit,
At such blows but wince and whine?
Often in the dangerous tempest,
When the winds before the blast
Surging charged like crested horsemen
Over helm, and plank, and mast,
He, and all his kin before him,
Well have kept the clansman's faith,
Serving thee in every danger,
Shielding thee from harm and skaith.
'Mid the glens and hills, in combats
Where the blades of swordsmen meet,
Has he fought with thee the Campbells,
Mingling glory with defeat.
But as waters round Eorsa
Darken deep, then blanch in foam,
When the winds Ben More has harboured
Burst in thunder from their home,
So the brow fear never clouded
Blackens now 'neath anger's pall,
And the lips, to speak disdaining,
Whiten at revenge's call!
PART II.
Late, when many years had passed him,
And the Chiefs old age begun,
Seemed his youth again to blossom
With the birth of his fair son.
Late, when all his days had hardened
Into flint his nature wild,
Seemed it softer grown and kinder
For the sake of that one child.
And again a hunting morning
Saw Loch Búy and his men,
With his boy, his guests, and kinsmen,
Hidden o'er a coppiced glen.
Deep within its oaken thickets
Ran its waters to the sea:
On the hill the Chief lay careless,
While the child watched eagerly.