What time the sun arose on Vennachar’s broad wave.
II.
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,
Love prompted to the bridegroom’s tongue,
All while he stripp’d the wild-rose spray.
His ax and bow beside him lay,
For on a pass ’twixt lake and wood,
A wakeful sentinel he stood.
Hark! on the rock a footstep rung,