And reach’d that torrent’s sounding shore,
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,[287]
From Vennachar in silver breaks,
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines
On Bochastle the moldering lines,
Where Rome, the Empress of the world,
Of yore her eagle[288] wings unfurl’d.
And here his course the Chieftain stayed,
Threw down his target and his plaid,
And to the Lowland warrior said,—