Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim.
The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer,
A slender crosslet framed with care,
A cubit’s length in measure due;
The shaft and limbs were rods of yew,
Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave
Their shadows o’er Clan Alpine’s grave.”
Lifting up this fragment of the tree from the grave of the patriarch of the Clan,[721] the old priest sounded anathemas against those who should be untrue to their covenant obligations as clansmen, when they recognized this symbol of their common brotherhood.
“Burst with loud roar their answer hoarse,
‘Woe to the traitor, woe!’