"Now westward rolls the battle's din, 495 That deep and doubling pass within.-- Minstrel, away! the work of fate Is bearing on; its issue wait, Where the rude Trossachs' dread defile Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.-- 500 Gray Benvenue I soon repassed, Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. The sun is set, the clouds are met, The lowering scowl of heaven An inky hue of livid blue 505 To the deep lake has given; Strange gusts of wind from mountain-glen Swept o'er the lake, then sunk again. I heeded not the eddying surge, Mine eye but saw the Trossachs' gorge, 510 Mine ear but heard the sullen sound, Which like an earthquake shook the ground, And spoke the stern and desperate strife That parts not but with parting life, Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 515 The dirge of many a passing soul. Nearer it comes--the dim-wood glen The martial flood disgorged again, But not in mingled tide; The plaided warriors of the North 520 High on the mountain thunder forth And overhang its side; While by the lake below appears The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears. At weary bay each shattered band, 525 Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand; Their banners stream like tattered sail, That flings its fragments to the gale, And broken arms and disarray Marked the fell havoc of the day. 530 XX