Were crouched to rest upon the ground,
Scarce to be known by curious eye
From the deep heather where they lie;
So well was matched the tartan screen
With heath-bell dark, and brackens green.
The mountaineer then whistled shrill,
And he was answered from the hill;
Instant through copse and heath arose
Bonnets and spears and bended bows.
And every tuft of broom gave life