Page:The Family Legend.pdf/71

LOCHTARISH.

Evil, that soon will wrap your tower in flames,

Your ditches fill with blood, and carrion birds
Glut with the butcher'd corses of your slain.

GLENFADDEN.

Ay; evil, that doth make the hoary locks

Of sighted men around their age-worn scalps
Like quicken'd points of crackling flame to rise;
Their teeth to grind, and strained eye-balls roll
In fitful frenzy, at the horrid things,
In terrible array before them raised.

FIRST VASSAL.

The mermaid hath been heard upon our rocks:

The fatal song of waves.

GLENFADDEN.

The northern deep

Is heard with distant moanings from our coast,
Uttering the dismal bodeful sounds of death.

SECOND VASSAL.

The funeral lights have shone upon our heath,

Marking in countless groupes the graves of thousands.