For round him shower’d, ’mid rain and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael.—
In vain—He nears the isle—and lo!
His hand is on a shallop’s bow.
—Just then a flash of lightning came,
It tinged the waves and strand with flame;—
I mark’d Duncraggan’s widow’d dame—
Behind an oak I saw her stand,
A naked dirk gleam’d in her hand:
It darken’d,—but, amid the moan