Whose fires, now quenched and black,
Had seen five gallant sons go forth,
And never one come back.
’Tis silent all! but hark—a cry
And ghastly clamours wake
The midnight glen. Then rose proudly
That ancient dame, and spake—
“What mingled sounds of woe and wail
Up Mortham’s valley spread?
What shrieks upon the gusty gale