Benledi saw the Cross of Fire; It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; 455 The tear that gathered in his eye He left the mountain breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable strath with green, 460 The chapel of St. Bride was seen. Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the dark waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, 465 He dashed amid the torrent's roar. His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-ax grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide. He stumbled twice--the foam splashed high; 470 With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen--forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, 475 Until the opposing bank he gained, And up the chapel pathway strained. XX A blithesome rout, that morning tide, Had sought the chapel of St. Bride. Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 480 To Norman, heir of Armandave. And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march. In rude, but glad procession, came Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame; 485 And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, Which snooden maiden would not hear: And children, that, unwitting why, Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; And minstrels, that in measures vied 490 Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose. With virgin step, and bashful hand, She held the kerchief's snowy band; 495 The gallant bridegroom, by her side, Beheld his prize with victor's pride, And the glad mother in her ear Was closely whispering word of cheer. XXI