CANTO IV.
THE PROPHECY.
177
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went on.
Still on the Clans-man, fearfully,
She fixed her apprehensive eye;
Then turned it on the Knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.
And hurried note, the song went on.
Still on the Clans-man, fearfully,
She fixed her apprehensive eye;
Then turned it on the Knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.
XXV.
"The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.
"The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.
"It was a stag, a stag of ten,[1]
Bearing his branches sturdily;
He came stately down the glen,
Ever sing hardily, hardily.
Bearing his branches sturdily;
He came stately down the glen,
Ever sing hardily, hardily.
- ↑ Having ten branches on his antlers.
