Roused by the sneer, he rais'd the bowl,
"Would Oscar now could share our mirth!"
Internal fear appall'd his soul;
He said, and dash'd the cup to earth.
"'Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!"
Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming Form.
"A murderer's voice!" the roof replies,
And deeply swells the bursting storm.
The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink,
The stranger's gone,—amidst the crew,
A Form was seen, in tartan green,
And tall the shade terrific grew.
His waist was bound with a broad belt round,
His plume of sable stream'd on high;
But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there,
And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye.
And thrice he smil'd, with his eye so wild
On Angus bending low the knee;
And thrice he frown'd, on a Chief on the ground,
Whom shivering crowds with horror see.
- Internal fears ——.—[Hours of Idleness.]