“No more I weep. They do not sleep.
“On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,
“I see them sit, they linger yet,
“Avengers of their native land:
“With me in dreadful harmony they join,
“And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
IV.
“Weave the warp, and weave the woof
“The winding sheet of Edward’s race
“Give ample room, and verge enough