And, when they slept, a vocal strain
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again,
While loud a hundred clansmen raise
Their voices in their Chieftain’s praise.
Each boatman, bending to his oar,
With measured sweep the burden[123] bore,
In such wild cadence as the breeze
Makes through December’s leafless trees.
The chorus first could Allan know,
“Roderick Vich Alpine, ho! iro!”