Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around:
They marched all in silence,—they looked on the ground.
In silence they reached over mountain and moor,
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;
“Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn:
Why speak ye no word!”—said Glenara the stern.
“And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?”
So spake the rude chieftain:—no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed.