706 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1810. 



A cubit's length in naeasure due, 

 The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 

 Whose parents in Incli-Cailiiach wave 

 Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave. 

 And answering Lomond's breezes deep, 

 Soothe many a cliieftain's endless sleep. 

 The cross, thus formed, he held on high, 

 With wasted hand and haggard eye, 

 And strange and mingled feelings woke, 

 While his anathema he spoke : 



" Woe to the clans-man, who shall view 

 This symbol of sepulchral yew. 

 Forgetful that its branches grew 

 Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 



On Alpine's dwelling low ! 

 Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, 

 He ne'er shall mingle with their dust. 

 But, from his sires and kindred thrust. 

 Each clans-man's execration just 



Shall doom him wrath and woe." 

 He paused; — the word the Vassals took. 

 With forward step, and fiery look. 

 On high their naked brands they shook. 

 Their clattering targets wildly strook ; 



And first, in murmur low. 

 Then, like the billow in his course. 

 That far to seaward finds his source. 

 And flings to shore his muster'd force. 

 Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, 



" Woe to the traitor, woe !" 

 Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew. 

 The joyous wolf from covert drew. 

 The exulting eagle scream'd afar, — 

 They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 



The shout was hushed on lake and fell, 

 The Monk resumed his mutter'd spell. 

 Dismal and low its-accents came, 

 The while he scathed the Cross with flame; 

 And the few words that reached the air. 

 Although the holiest name was there, 

 Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 

 But when he shook above the crowd 

 Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 

 •' Woe to the wretch, who fails to rear 

 At this dread sign the ready spear ! 



