When we wiped our bloody broadswords,
And returned to count the dead.
There we found him, gashed and gory,
Stretched upon the cumbered plain,
As he told us where to seek him,
In the thickest of the slain.
And a smile was on his visage,
For within his dying ear
Pealed the joyful note of triumph,
And the clansman’s clamorous cheer: