The result was that the bard feasted his eyes from a safe distance on the disaster of the Campbells, with whom he was ever at feud, and moved by all the passion and prejudice of the event composed the heroic stanzas entitled, “The Battle of Inverlochy.” So realistic and graphic is the description given in the original Gaelic that it seems to photograph many of the details just as they happened. “The spirit of poetry, the language, and boldness of expression,” says Mackenzie, with perhaps the Celtic leaning to hyperbole, “have never been equalled.” Yet to-day we read these vindictive strains with different feelings from those that animated the bard. A few verses may be quoted from the rendering of Professor Blackie, which, though they lack the fire and intensity of the original, give a good idea of the gist of the poem:—[33] Did you hear from Cille Cummin How the tide of war came pouring? Far and wide the summons travelled, How they drave the Whigs before them! From the Castle tower I viewed it High on Sunday morning early, Looked and saw the ordered battle Where Clan Donald triumphed rarely. Up the green slope of Cuil Eachaidh Came Clan Donald marching stoutly; Churls who laid my home in ashes, Now shall pay the fine devoutly! · · · · · Many a bravely mounted rider, With his back turned to the slaughter, Where his boots won’t keep him dry now, Learns to swim in Nevis water. On the wings of eager rumour Far and wide the tale is flying, How the slippery knaves, the Campbells, With their cloven skulls are lying! O’er the frosted moor they travelled, Stoutly with no thought of dying; Where now many a whey-faced lubber, To manure the fields is lying! From the height of Tom-na-harry See them crudely heaped together, In their eyes no hint of seeing, Stretched to rot upon the heather! Warm your welcome was at Lochy, With blows and buffets thickening round you, And Clan Donald’s groovèd claymore, Flashing terror to confound you! Hot and hotter grew the struggle Where the trenchant blade assailed them; Sprawled with nails on ground Clan Duiné, When the parted sinew failed them. Many a corpse upon the heather, Naked lay, once big with daring, From the battle’s hurly-burly, Drifting blindly to Blarchaorainn. · · · · ·