E’en so, devoid of sense, succumbs at length
Mere strength of zeal to intellectual strength.
His son’s close logic so perplexed his pate,
Th’ old hero rather shunned than sought debate;
Exhausting his vocabulary’s store
Of oaths and nicknames, he could say no more,
But tapp’d his mull,[101] rolled mutely in his chair,
Or only whistled Killiecrankie’s air.
Witch legends Ronald scorned—ghost, kelpie, wraith,
And all the trumpery of vulgar faith;