That we scorn their prince’s anger,
       As we loathe his foreign gold. 
     Strike! and when the fight is over,
       If you look in vain for me,
     Where the dead are lying thickest
       Search for him that was Dundee!”

     [Footnote 1:  Archbishop Sharp, Lord Primate of Scotland.]

          III

     Loudly then the hills re-echoed
       With our answer to his call,
     But a deeper echo sounded
       In the bosoms of us all. 
     For the lands of wide Breadalbane,
       Not a man who heard him speak
     Would that day have left the battle. 
       Burning eye and flushing cheek
     Told the clansmen’s fierce emotion,
       And they harder drew their breath;
     For their souls were strong within them,
       Stronger than the grasp of Death. 
     Soon we heard a challenge trumpet
       Sounding in the Pass below,
     And the distant tramp of horses,
       And the voices of the foe;
     Down we crouched amid the bracken,
       Till the Lowland ranks drew near,
     Panting like the hounds in summer,
       When they scent the stately deer. 
     From the dark defile emerging,
       Next we saw the squadrons come,
     Leslie’s foot and Leven’s troopers
       Marching to the tuck of drum;
     Through the scattered wood of birches,
       O’er the broken ground and heath,
     Wound the long battalion slowly,
       Till they gained the field beneath;
     Then we bounded from our covert,—­
       Judge how looked the Saxons then,
     When they saw the rugged mountain
       Start to life with armed men! 
     Like a tempest down the ridges
       Swept the hurricane of steel,
     Rose the slogan of Macdonald—­
       Flashed the broadsword of Lochiel! 
     Vainly sped the withering volley
       ’Mongst the foremost of our band—­
     On we poured until we met them
       Foot to foot and hand to hand. 
     Horse and man went down like drift-wood
       When the floods are black at Yule,
     And their carcasses are whirling
       In the Garry’s deepest pool. 
     Horse and man went down before us—­
       Living foe there tarried none
     On the field of Killiecrankie,
       When that stubborn fight was done!

          IV

     And the evening star was shining
       On Schehallion’s distant head,
     When we wiped our bloody broadswords,
       And returned to count the dead. 
     There we found him gashed and gory,
       Stretched upon the cumbered plain,
     As he told us where to seek him,
       In the thickest of the slain. 
     And a smile was on his visage,
       For within his dying ear
     Pealed the joyful note of triumph
       And the clansmen’s clamorous cheer: 
     So, amidst the battle’s thunder,
       Shot, and steel, and scorching flame,
     In the glory of his manhood
       Passed the spirit of the Graeme!