III.

Byrone, a type of peace thou seemest now, Yielding thy ridges to the rustic plough, With corn-fields at thy feet, and many a grove Whose songs are but of love; But different was the aspect of that hour, Which brought, of eld, the Norsemen o'er the deep, To wrest yon castle's walls from Scotland's power, And leave her brave to bleed, her fair to weep; When Husbac fierce, and Olave, Mona's king,[5] Confederate chiefs, with shout and triumphing, Bade o'er its towers the Scaldic raven fly, And mock each storm-tost sea-king toiling by!-- Far different were the days, When flew the fiery cross, with summoning blaze, O'er Blane's hill, and o'er Catan, and o'er Kames, And round thy peak the phalanx'd Butesmen stood,[6] As Bruce's followers shed the Baliol's blood, Yea! gave each Saxon homestead to the flames!