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.
“I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,”
Cried a voice from the kinsmen all, wrathful and loud: