As list’ning still, Clan-Alpine’s lord
Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until the page, with humble sign,
Twice pointed to the sun’s decline.
Then while his plaid he round him cast,
“It is the last time—’tis the last,”
He mutter’d thrice,—“the last time e’er
That angel voice shall Roderick hear!”
It was a goading thought—his stride
Hied hastier down the mountain side;