Battle of Beal' An Duine.
'The Minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, For ere he parted he would say Farewell to lovely loch Achray Where shall he find, in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!--There is no breeze upon the fern, No ripple on the lake, Upon her eyry nods the erne, The deer has sought the brake;The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud, That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill.
Is it the thunder's solemn sound That mutters deep and dread, Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread?
Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance The sun's retiring beams?--I see the dagger-crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star, Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, That up the lake comes winding far!
To hero boune for battle-strife, Or bard of martial lay, 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, One glance at their array!
