"the dagger-crest of Mar,
Still sees the Moray's silver star,
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,
That up the lake comes winding far!"
And does the blood of the youthful listener still thrill as he thinks of
the glory of that cavalcade, till he feels, as we used of old, that--
"'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,
One glance at their array."