ARGYLLSHIRE. 47 



Closed were paths as with a netting, 

 Vain high courage, speed, or scent; 



Every mesh a man in ambush, 

 Ready, with a crossbow bent. 



" Eachan,* guard that glade and copsewood ! 

 At your peril, let none by ! " 

 Cries the Chief, while in the heather 

 Silently the huntsmen lie. 



Shouting, by the green morasses, 

 Where the fairies dance at night, 



Yelling 'neath the oak and birches, 

 Come the beaters into sight, 



And, before them, rushing wildly, 

 Speeds the herd of driven deer, 



Whose wide antlers tossed like branches 

 In the winter of the year. 



Useless was the vassal's effort 



To arrest the living flow, 

 And it passed by Eachan's passage, 



Spite of hound, and shout, and blow. 



"Worse than woman! Useless caitiff! 

 Why allowed you them to pass ? 

 Back ! no answer ! Hark, men, hither, 

 Take his staff, and bind him fast." 



* Gaelic for Hector. 



