[347] The Campbell clan. The Clan-Alpine, or the MacGregors, and the Campbells, were hereditary enemies.
"The Minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, For ere he parted, he would say Farewell to lovely Loch Achray-- Where shall he find, in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand! There is no breeze upon the fern, Nor ripple on the lake, Upon her eyry nods the erne,[348] The deer has sought the brake; The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill. Is it the thunder's solemn sound That mutters deep and dread, Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread? Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance The sun's retiring beams? I see the dagger crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star, Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, That up the lake comes winding far! To hero bound for battle strife, Or bard of martial lay, 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, One glance at their array!"
"Their light arm'd archers far and near Survey'd the tangled ground; Their center ranks, with pike and spear, A twilight forest frown'd; Their barbed[349] horsemen, in the rear, The stern battalia[350] crown'd. No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armor's clang, The sullen march was dumb. There breathed no wind their crests to shake, Or wave their flags abroad; Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake, That shadow'd o'er their road. Their vaward[351] scouts no tidings bring, Can rouse no lurking foe, Nor spy a trace of living thing, Save when they stirr'd the roe; The host moves like a deep-sea wave, Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, High swelling, dark, and slow. The lake is pass'd, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain, Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws; And here the horse and spearmen pause. While, to explore the dangerous glen, Dive through the pass the archer men."
"At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, Had peal'd the banner cry of hell! Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear; For life! for life! their plight they ply-- And shriek, and shout, and battle cry, And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear. Onward they drive, in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursued; Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall it keep its rooted place, The spearmen's twilight wood?-- 'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down! Bear back both friend and foe!'-- Like reeds before the tempest's frown, That serried grove of lances brown At once lay level'd low; And closely shouldering side to side, The bristling ranks the onset bide.-- 'We'll quell the savage mountaineer, As their Tinchel[352] cows the game! They come as fleet as forest deer, We'll drive them back as tame.' "--