See Stumah, who, the bier beside,
His master's corpse with wonder eyed-- 395
Poor Stumah! whom his least halloo
Could send like lightning o'er the dew,
Bristles his crest, and points his ears,
As if some stranger step he hears.
'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, 400
Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead,
But headlong haste, or deadly fear,
Urge the precipitate career.
All stand aghast--unheeding all,
The henchman bursts into the hall; 405
Before the dead man's bier he stood;
Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood:
"The muster-place is Lanrick mead;
Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"