Gathered are Glengarrie's pride On Lochlundie's mossy side, The Crantara they obey, They are met they know not why, But they bind the broadsword on; And the studded buckler shone As the evening's sunny rays Burnt in summer's orient blaze Through the silent sombre wood That lines the margin of the flood. Mark, O mark that eagle crest, Towering lordly o'er the rest, Like the tall and monarch pine Which waves its head in dark Glenlyne, When the stormy cloud is cast Above that region of the blast. Mark that forehead's fitful glow, Mark that grey and shaggy brow, Mark, O mark that dreadful eye Which glistens but on misery. Now rolling in revengeful mood O'er the thoughts of coming blood, Then casting to the glorious sky A glance of hopeless agony. Warrior of the savage breast, Fell Macranuil 'twas thy crest, 'Twas the banner of thy race Which the wondering eye might trace, As it wound by wood and brake, Rolling stream and stilly lake, As it fluttered for a while On the brow of dark Torgoil, Or descended the rough side Of the Moristone's wild tide. Silent is Macranuil's tread And his followers' stealthy speed, As they cross the lovely glen Where Urquhart's waters, flow between Hillocks where the zephyrs dwell, In the blue and fragrant bell: Groves where echo answers ever The low murmurs of the river; And the mountain top is seen Snow-speck'd in the distant scene. Mhicranuil! why that softened pace? Thou seek'st not now the wary chase? Why do'st thou and thy warriors keen So fold your plaids that nought is seen Of arms or armour, even the lance Whereon your pendant used to glance Its blazoned "Lamh dhearg" 'mid the rays Of solar light, or battle blaze, Has disappeared, and each wild look Scowls at the music of the brook, As if sweet nature seemed to scan The inmost heart of guilty man? Oh! can you in a scene so loved By all that's holy stand unmoved? Can vengeance in that heart be found Which vibrates on this blessed ground? Can that lone deep cathedral bell Cast all around its sacred spell? And yet on ruthless murder bent, Its voice to thee in vain be sent? Mhicranuil? raise thy haggard eye, And say beneath the glowing sky Is there a spot where man may rest More beautiful, more truly blest Than where the Beauly pours its stream Through nature's all-romantic Dream,[A] Down to that ridge which bounds the south Of Nephia's salmon-spangled mouth?