'Twas all prepared;[181]--and from the rock, A goat, the patriarch of the flock, Before the kindling pile was laid, And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. Patient the sickening victim eyed The lifeblood ebb in crimson tide, Down his clogg'd beard and shaggy limb, Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, A slender crosslet form'd with care, A cubit's[182] length in measure due; The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach[183] wave Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave, And, answering Lomond's breezes deep, Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. The Cross, thus form'd, he held on high, With wasted hand, and haggard eye, And strange and mingled feelings woke, While his anathema he spoke. [181] The ritual referred to in Canto III. was all prepared. [182] About eighteen inches. [183] The Isles of Nuns in Loch Lomond, and place of burial of the descendants of MacGregor. IX. "Woe to the clansman who shall view This symbol of sepulchral yew, Forgetful that its branches grew Where weep the heavens their holiest dew On Alpine's dwelling low! Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, But, from his sires and kindred thrust, Each clansman's execration just Shall doom him wrath and woe." He paused;--the word the vassals took, With forward step and fiery look, On high their naked brands they shook, Their clattering targets wildly strook;[184] And first in murmur low, Then, like the billow in his course, That far to seaward finds his source, And flings to shore his muster'd force, Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, "Woe to the traitor, woe!" Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew,[185] The joyous wolf from covert drew, The exulting eagle scream'd afar,-- They knew the voice of Alpine's war. [184] Struck. [185] "Scalp," etc., i.e., summit the accents heard. X.