For well has thy death been avenged by thy band,
When they joined in wild chorus the cry of the chief,
“To-day for revenge, and to-morrow for grief!”
Thy dirge in that hour was the bugle’s wild call,
The clash of the claymore, the shout of the brave;
But now thy own bard may lament for thy fall,
And the soft voice of melody sigh o’er thy grave—
While Albyn remembers the words of the chief,
“To-day for revenge, and to-morrow for grief!”
Thou art fallen, O fearless one! flower of thy race!