The cabin’s patriarch lent impatient ear;
Wroth that, beneath his roof, a living man
Should boast the swine-blood of the Campbell clan,
He hastened to the door—called out his son
To follow; walked a space, and thus begun:—
“You have not, Ronald, at this day to learn
The oath I took beside my father’s cairn,
When you were but a babe a twelvemonth born;
Sworn on my dirk—by all that’s sacred, sworn
To be revenged for blood that cries to Heaven—