And there was mounting in hot haste--the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war-- And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the Morning Star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,[hm] Or whispering, with white lips--"The foe! They come! they come!" XXVI. And wild and high the "Cameron's Gathering" rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes;-- How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's--Donald's[4.B.] fame rings in each clansman's ears! XXVII. And Ardennes[5.B.] waves above them her green leaves,[hn] Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass-- Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,--alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living Valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high Hope, shall moulder cold and low. XXVIII. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life;-- Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay; The Midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The Morn the marshalling in arms,--the Day Battle's magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,--friend,--foe,--in one red burial blent! XXIX. Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his Sire some wrong,[292] And partly that bright names will hallow song;[ho] And his was of the bravest, and when showered The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along, Even where the thickest of War's tempest lowered, They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard![293] XXX.