Some sate, some stood, some slowly strayed,—
But most, with mantles folded round,
Were couched to rest upon the ground—
Scarce to be known by curious eye
From the deep heather where they lie;
But when, advancing through the gloom,
They saw their chieftain’s eagle plume,
Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,
Shook the steep mountain’s steady side,—
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell