And the pibroch is heard on the hills far away,
And the clans are all gather'd from mountain and glen.
For exiled King Jamie, their darling and lord,
They raise the loud slogan—they rush to the war.
The tramp of the battle resounds on the sward—
Unfurl'd is the banner—unsheath'd the claymore!
The vision has fled like a sparkle of light,
And dark is the dream that possesses him now;
The morn of his doom has succeeded the night,
And the damp dews of death gather fast on his brow.