The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott ... Notes & life of the author.

CAINTO 111 TnE GATHERING.
— What woeful accents load the gale?
The funeral yell, the female wail!
A gallant hmnter's sport is o'er,
A valiant warrior fights no more.
Who, in the battle or the chase,
At Roderick's side shall fill his place —Within the hall, where torch's ray
Supplies the excluded beams of day,
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier,
And o'er him streams his widow's teat.
His stripling son stands mournful by,
His youngest weeps, but knows not why;
The village maids and matrons round
The dismal coronach resound.
XVL
CORONACHL
He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sores
The font, re-appearing,
From the rain-drops shall borrow,
But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory;
The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the correi,
Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever!
XVIL
See Stumah,* who, the bier beside,
His master's corpse with wonder eyed+ Faithful. The name of a dog.
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