we now?  See, rudely swell
       Crag over crag, fell over fell. 
       Ask we this savage hill we tread,
       For fattened steer or household bread;
       Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,
       And well the mountain might reply,—­
       “To you, as to your sires of yore,
       Belong the target and claymore! 
       I give you shelter in my breast,
       Your own good blades must win the rest.” 
       Pent in this fortress of the North,
       Think’st thou we will not sally forth,
       To spoil the spoiler as we may,
       And from the robber rend the prey? 
       Aye, by my soul!—­While on yon plain
       The Saxon rears one shock of grain;
       While of ten thousand herds, there strays
       But one along yon river’s maze,—­
       The Gael, of plain and river heir,
       Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. 
       Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold
       That plundering Lowland field and fold
       Is aught but retribution true? 
       Seek other cause ’gainst Roderick Dhu.” 
       Answered Fitz-James—­“And, if I sought,
       Think’st thou no other could be brought? 
       What deem ye of my path waylaid,
       My life given o’er to ambuscade?”
       “As of a meed to rashness due: 
       Hadst thou sent warning fair and true,—­
       I seek my hound, or falcon strayed. 
       I seek, good faith, a Highland maid.—­
       Free hadst thou been to come and go;
       But secret path marks secret foe. 
       Nor yet, for this, even as a spy,
       Hadst thou unheard, been doomed to die,
       Save to fulfil an augury.” 
       “Well, let it pass; nor will I now
       Fresh cause of enmity avow,
       To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 
       Enough, I am by promise tied
       To match me with this man of pride: 
       Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine’s glen
       In peace:  but when I come again,
       I come with banner, brand, and bow,
       As leader seeks his mortal foe. 
       For love-lorn swain, in lady’s bower,
       Ne’er panted for the appointed hour,
       As I, until before me stand
       This rebel Chieftain and his band.” 
       “Have, then, thy wish!”—­he whistled shrill,
       And he was answered from the hill: 
       Wild as the scream of the curlew,
       From crag to crag the signal flew. 
       Instant, through copse and heath, arose
       Bonnets and spears, and bended bows. 
       On right, on left, above, below,
       Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
       From shingles grey their lances start,
       The bracken bush sends forth the dart. 
       The rushes and the willow wand
       Are bristling into axe and brand,
       And every tuft of broom gives life
       To plaided warrior armed for strife.