While his face wore the winter of fight!
“His smooth claymore glittered aloft,
In his champion hand it was light;
And the snoring winds kept moving his locks
Like spray in the whirlpool’s might!
“The hills on each side they were shaken,
And the path seemed to tremble with fright!
Gleamed his eyes, and his great heart kept swelling—
Oh! cheerless the terrible sight!”